MEZZOTINTS 
IN    MODERN    MUSIC 


BRAHMS,   TSCHAIKOWSKY,   CHOPIN 

RICHARD    STRAUSS,    LISZT 

AND    WAGNER 


BY 

JAMES   HUNEKER 


FOURTH  EDITION 


NEW    YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

I912 


ML  '3f^> 


Copyright  1899 
By  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


^fffcttonateltJ  Inscrilieli 


HENRY   EDWARD   KREHBIEL 


266959 


CONTENTS 

Pack 

I.    The  Music  of  the  Future    ......  i 

II.    A  Modern  Music  Lord Si 

III.  Richard  Strauss  and  Nietzsche  ....  141 

IV.  The  Greater  Chopix 160 

V.    A  Liszt  Etude 224 

VI.    The  Royal  Road  to  Parnassus    ....  240 

VII.    A  Note  on  Richard  Wagner 285 

INDEX 299 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

The  death  of  Johannes  Brahms  in  1897 
removed  from  the  sparsely  settled  land  of 
music  the  last  of  the  immortals  ;  the  one  whom 
Billow  justly  ranked  with  Bach  and  Beethoven  ; 
the  one  upon  whom  Schumann  lavished  both 
praise  and  prophecy.  Not  by  any  wrench  of 
the  imagination  can  we  conjure  the  name  of 
Antonin  Dvorak,  despite  his  delightful  gift 
of  saying  naive  and  Slavic  things  ;  not  by  any 
excess  of  sentiment  can  we  dower  Italy's  grand 
old  man  Verdi  with  the  title,  nor  yet  France's 
favorite  son,  Saint-Saens ;  not  any  one  nor 
all  of  these  three  varying  talents  can  be  com- 
pared to  the  great,  virile  man  who  died  in 
Vienna,  the  city  of  his  preference  but  not  of 
his  birth. 

When  the  printed  list  of  Brahms'  achieve- 
ments in  song,  sonata,  symphony  and  choral 
works  of  vast  proportions  is  placed  before 
you,  amazement  at  the  slow,  patient,  extra- 
ordinary fertility  and  versatility  of  the  man 
seizes  upon  you.  It  is  not  alone  that  he  wrote 
I  I 


MEZZOTI^^IS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

four  symphonies  of  surpassing  merit,  two  piano 
concertos,  a  violin  concerto,  a  double  concerto 
for  violin  and  violoncello,  songs,  piano  pieces, 
great  set  compositions  like  the  Song  of  Des- 
tiny and  the  German  Requiem,  duos,  trios, 
quartets,  quintets,  sextets,  sestets,  all  manner 
of  combinations  for  wood,  for  wind,  for  strings 
and  voices;  it  is  the  sum  total  of  high  excel- 
lence, the  stern,  unyielding  adherence  to  ideals 
sometimes  almost  frostily  unhuman  —  in  a 
word,  the  logical,  consistent  and  philosophic 
bent  of  the  man's  mind — that  forces  your 
homage.  For  half  a  century  he  pursued  the 
beautiful  in  its  most  elusive  and  difficult  form ; 
pursued  it  when  the  fashions  of  the  hour,  day 
and  year  mocked  at  such  wholesale,  undevi- 
ating  devotion,  when  form  was  called  old-fash- 
ioned, sobriety  voted  dull,  and  the  footlights 
had  invaded  music's  realm  and  menaced  it  in 
its  very  stronghold  —  the  symphony. 

When  a  complete  life  of  Johannes  Brahms 
is  written,  this  trait  of  fidelity,  this  marvellous 
spiritual  obstinacy  of  the  man  will  be  lovingly 
dealt  with.  There  seems  to  be  a  notion 
abroad  that  because  Brahms  refused  to  chal- 
lenge current  tendencies  in  art  and  literature 
he  held  himself  aloof,  was  remote  from  hu- 
manity, was  a  bonze  of  art,  a  Brahmin,  and 
not  a  bard  chanting  its  full-blooded  wants  and 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

woes  with  full  throat.  Nothing  could  be  wider 
of  the  truth.  Brahms'  music  throbs  with  hu- 
manity ;  with  the  rich  red  blood  of  mankind. 
He  was  the  greatest  contrapuntist  after  Bach, 
the  greatest  architectonist  after  Beethoven, 
but  in  his  songs  he  was  as  simple,  as  manly, 
as  tender  as  Robert  Burns.  His  topmost  peaks 
are  tremendously  remote,  and  glitter  and 
gleam  in  an  atmosphere  almost  too  thin  for 
dwellers  of  the  plains;  but  how  intimate,  how 
full  of  charm,  of  graciousness  are  the  happy 
moments  in  his  chamber  music  ! 

It  is  not  rashly  premature  for  us  to  assign  to 
Brahms  a  place  among  the  immortals.  \,  Com- 
ing after  the  last  of  the  most  belated  roman- 
ticists, untouched  by  the  fever  for  the  theatre, 
a  realist  with  great  imagination,  both  a  classi- 
cist and  a  romanticist,  he  led  music  back  in  her 
proper  channels  by  showing  that  a  phenome- 
nal sense  of  form  and  a  mastery  of  polyphony 
second  only  to  Bach  are  not  incompatible 
with  progress,  with  the  faculty  of  uttering 
new  things  in  a  new  way.  Brahms  is  not  a 
reactionary  any  more  than  is  Richard  Wagner. 
Neither  of  these  men  found  what  he  needed, 
so  one  harked  back  to  Gluck  and  the  Greeks, 
the  other  to  Bach  and  Beethoven.  Consider 
the  massiveness  of  Brahms'  tonal  architec- 
ture ;  consider  those  structures  erected  after 
3 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

years  of  toil ;  regard  the  man's  enormous  fer- 
tility of  ideas ;  enormous  patience  in  develop- 
ing them;  consider  the  ease  with  which  he 
moves  shackled  by  the  most  difficult  forms  — 
not  assumed  for  the  mere  sake  of  the  difficult, 
but  because  it  was  the  only  form  in  which  he 
could  successfully  express  himself —  consider 
the  leavening  genius,  the  active  geniahty  of 
the  man,  which  militates  against  pedantry, 
the  dryness  of  scholasticismx  and  the  mere 
arithmetical  music  of  the  kapellmeister  ;  con- 
sider the  powerful,  emotional  and  intellectual 
brain  of  this  composer,  and  then  realize  that  all 
great  works  in  art  are  the  arduous  victories  of 
great  minds  over  great  imaginations  !  Brahms 
ever  consciously  schooled  his  imagination. 

Brahms  was  Brahms'  greatest  critic.  He 
worked  slowly,  he  produced  slowly  and,  being 
of  the  contemplative  rather  than  the  active 
and  dramatic  type,  he  incurred  the  reproach 
of  being  phlegmatic,  Teutonic,  heavy  and 
thick.  There  is  enough  sediment  in  his  col- 
lected works  to  give  the  color  of  truth  to  this 
allegation,  but  from  the  richness  and  the 
cloudiness  of  the  ferment,  is  thrown  off  the 
finest  wine;  and  how  fine,  how  incomparably 
noble  is  a  draught  of  this  wine  after  the  thin, 
acid,  frothing  and  bubbling  stuff  concocted  at 
every  season's  musical  vintage ! 
4 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

Brahms  reminds  one  of  those  mediaeval 
architects  whose  life  was  a  prayer  in  marble ; 
who  slowly  and  assiduously  erected  cathedrals, 
the  mighty  abutments  of  which  flanked  majes- 
tically upon  mother  earth,  and  whose  thin, 
high  pinnacles  pierced  the  blue ;  whose  domes 
hung  suspended  between  heaven  and  earth, 
and  in  whose  nave  an  army  could  worship, 
while  in  the  forest  of  arches  music  came  and 
went  like  the  voices  of  many  waters. 

He  was  a  livingjreproach  to  the  haste  of  a 
superficial  generation.  Whatever  he  wrought 
he  wrought  in  bronze  and  for  time,  not  for  the 
hour.  He  restored  to  music  its  feeling  for 
form.  He  was  the  greatest  symphonist  in 
the  constructive  sense  since  Beethoven.  He 
did  not  fill  it  with  a  romantic  content  as  did 
Schumann,  but  he  never  defaced  or  distorted 
its  flowing  contours.  Not  so  great  a  colorist 
as  Schumann  or  Berlioz,  he  was  the  greatest 
master  of  pure  line  that  ever  lived.  He  is 
accused  of  not  scoring  happily.  The  accusa- 
tion is  true.  Brahms  does  not  displa}'  the 
same  gracious  sense  of  voicing  the  needs  and 
capabilities  of  every  orchestral  instrument  as 
have  Berlioz,  Dvorak  and  Strauss.  He  is  often 
very  muddy,  drab  and  opaque,  but  his  nobility 
of  utterance,  his  remarkable  eloquence  and 
ingenuity  in  treatment  make  you  forget  his 
5 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

shortcomings  in  color.  But  in  writing  for 
choral  masses,  for  combinations,  such  as  clari- 
net and  strings,  piano,  violin  and  'cello,  or 
for  piano  solo,  he  had  few  masters.  There 
seems  to  be  a  perverse  vein  in  his  handling  of 
orchestral  color.  He  gives  you  the  impres- 
sion of  mastery,  but  writes  as  if  to  him  the 
garb,  the  vestment  were  naught,  and  the  pure, 
sweet  flesh  and  form,  all. 

Brahms  had  his  metaphysical  moments 
when  he  wrestled  with  the  pure  idea  as  specu- 
latively as  a  Pascal  or  a  Spinoza.  There  are 
minutes  in  his  music  when  he  becomes  the 
purely  contemplative  mind  surveying  the 
nave  of  the  universe ;  when  Giotto's  circle  is 
for  him  an  "  O  Altitudo."  It  cannot  be  said, 
then  that  Brahms  the  philosopher,  the  utterer 
of  cryptic  tones,  is  as  interesting  as  Brahms 
the  composer  of  the  second  and  third  sym- 
phonies, the  composer  of  the  F  minor  piano 
sonata,  the  F  minor  piano  quintet,  the  creator 
of  the  Schicksalslied,  the  German  Requiem 
or  those  exquisite  and  fragrant  flowers,  the 
songs. 

Brahms  is  the  first  composer  since  Bee- 
thoven to  sound  the  note  of  the  sublime.  He 
has  been  called  austere  for  this.  He  has  sub- 
limity at  times ;  something  that  Schumann, 
Rubinstein,  Raff  or  Tschai'kowsky  never  quite 
6 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

compassed.  To  this  is  allied  that  forbidding 
quality,  that  want  of  commonplace  sympathy, 
that  laclc  of  personal  profile  which  make  his 
music  very  often  disliked  by  critic,  amateur 
and  professional.  He  would  never  make  any 
concessions  to  popularity ;  indeed,  like  Henrik 
Ibsen,  he  often  goes  out  of  his  way  to  dis- 
please !  The  facile,  cheap  triumph  he  de- 
spises ;  he  sees  all  Europe  covered  with 
second  and  third  rate  men  in  music,  and  he 
notes  that  they  please ;  their  only  excuse  for 
living  is  to  give  cheap  pleasure. 

This,  and  the  naturally  serious  bent  of  the 
man,  superinduced  excessive  puritanism.  It 
is  a  sign  of  his  great  culture  and  flexible 
mental  operations  that  he  grew  to  study  and 
admire  Wagner  toward  the  close  of  his  hard- 
working life. 

Brahms'  workmanship  is  almost  impeccable. 
His  mastery  of  material  is  as  great  as  Bee- 
thoven's and  only  outstripped  by  Bach.  I 
have  dwelt  sufficiently  upon  his  formal  and 
contrapuntal  sense.  His  contribution  to  the 
technics  of  rhythm  is  enormous.  He  has 
literally  popularized  the  cross-relation,  re- 
discovered the  arpeggio  and  elevated  it  from 
the  lowly  position  of  an  accompanying  figure 
to  an  integer  of  the  melodic  phrase.  Wagnef 
did  the  same  for  the  essential  turn. 
7 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

A  pure  musician,  a  maker  of  absolute 
music,  a  man  of  poetic  ideals,  is  Brahms, 
without  thrusting  himself  forward  in  the  con- 
temporary canvas.  Not  Berlioz,  not  Wagner, 
but  the  plodding  genius  Brahms,  was  elected 
by  destiny  to  receive  upon  his  shoulders  the 
mantle  dropped  by  Beethoven  as  he  ascended 
the  slope  to  Parnassus,  and  the  shoulders 
were  broad  enough  to  bear  the  imposing 
weight. 

They  are  fast  becoming  sheeted  dead,  these 
great  few  left  us.  Who  shall  fill  Wagner's 
tribune ;  who  shall  carve  from  the  harmonic 
granite  imperishable  shapes  of  beauty  as  did 
Johannes  Brahms? 


With  the  death  of  the  master  the  time  has 
come  for  an  extended  and  careful  investiga- 
tion of  the  piano  sonatas,  the  rhapsodies,  the 
intermezzi,  the  capriccios,  the  fantasias,  the 
ballades  and  all  the  smaller  and  curious  forms 
left  us;  a  collection,  let  me  preface  by  de- 
claring, that  is  more  significant  and  more 
original  than  any  music  since  Chopin.  Now 
that  I  have  sounded  the  challenge  I  must  at 
once  proceed  to  attenuate  it  by  making  some 
qualifications  and  one  explanation.     Brahms 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

occupies  an  unsought  for  and  rather  unpleas- 
ant position  in  the  history  of  contemporary- 
music.  Without  his  consent  he  was  cham- 
pioned as  an  adversary  of  Wagner,  and  I 
beheve  Eduard  Hanslick,  most  brilliant  of 
critics,  had  something  to  do  with  this  false 
attitude.  Hanslick  hated  Wagner  and  adored 
Brahms.  There  you  have  it;  and  presently 
the  silly  spectacle  was  observed  of  two  men 
of  straw  being  pitted  one  against  the  other 
and  all  musical  Europe  drawn  into  a  quar- 
rel as  absurd  as  the  difference  between 
tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee.  Wagner  and 
Brahms  are  the  very  antipodes  of  art,  and  let 
it  be  said  most  forcibly  that  art  contains  easily 
without  violence  the  various  music  of  two  such 
great  artists,  although  some  critics  differ  from 
me  in  this. 

Wagner  was  a  great  fresco  painter,  handling 
his  brush  with  furious  energy,  magnificence 
and  dramatic  intensity.  Beside  his  vast,  his 
tremendous  scenery,  the  music  of  Brahms  is 
all  brown,  all  gray,  all  darkness,  and  often 
small.  It  is  not  imposing  in  the  operatic 
sense,  and  it  reaches  results  in  a  vast,  slow, 
even  cold  blooded  manner,  compared  with 
the  reckless  haste  of  Richard  of  the  Foot- 
lights. One  is  all  showy  externalization,  a 
seeker  after  immediate  and  sensuous  effects; 
9 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

the  other,  one  of  those  reserved,  self-contained 
men  who  feels  deeply  and  watches  and  waits. 
In  a  word,  Wagner  is  a  composer  for  the 
theatre,  with  all  that  the  theatre  implies,  and 
sought  to  divert — and  nearly  succeeded  — 
the  tide  of  music  into  theatrical  channels. 

Brahms  is  for  the  concert  room,  a  sympho- 
nist,  a  song  writer  and,  above  all,  a  German. 
I  wish  to  emphasize  this  point  of  nationality. 
Wagner  was  the  Celt,  with  a  dash  of  the 
Oriental  in  his  blood,  and  he  bubbled  and 
foamed  over  with  primal  power,  but  it  was 
not  the  reticent,  grave  power  of  the  Teuton, 
who,  as  Amiel  puts  it,  gathers  fuel  for  the 
pile  and  allows  the  French  to  kindle  it. 
Whether  it  was  Wagner's  early  residence  in 
Paris,  or  perhaps  some  determining  pre-natal 
influence,  he  surely  had  a  vivacity,  an  esprit, 
imagination  and  a  grace  denied  to  most  of 
his  countrymen,  Heine  excepted.  You  may 
look  for  these  qualities  in  Brahms,  but  they 
are  rarely  encountered.  Sobriety,  earnest- 
ness, an  intensity  that  is  like  the  blow  of  a 
steam  hammer,  and  a  rich,  informing  spirit 
are  present,  and  undoubted  temperament  also, 
but  as  there  are  temperaments  and  tempera- 
ments, so  the  temperament  of  Brahms  differs 
from  the  temperament  of  Wagner,  the  tem- 
perament of  Chopin  and  the  temperament  of 

lO 


THE   .MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

Liszt.  There  Is  a  remoteness,  a  sense  of 
distance  in  his  music  that  only  long  pursued 
study  partially  dissipates.  He  is  a  chilly 
friend  at  first,  but  the  clasp  of  the  hand  is 
true,  if  it  is  not  ahva}'s  charmful.  I  find  the 
same  difficulty  in  Beethoven,  in  Ibsen,  in  Gus- 
tave  Flaubert,  and  sometimes  in  Browning, 
but  never  in  Schumann  and  never  in  Schubert. 
As  Emerson  said  of  Walt  Whitman,  there  must 
have  been  a  "long  foreground  somewhere" 
to  the  man,  and  that  foreground  is  never 
wholly  traversed  with  Brahms. 

You  will  ask  me  what  is  there  then  so  fas- 
cinating in  this  austere,  self-centred  man, 
whose  music  at  first  hearing  suggests  both  a 
latter-day  Bach  and  a  latter-day  Beethoven  ? 

The  answer  is  simply  this :  Brahms  is  a 
profound  thinker;  his  chilliness  is  in  manner, 
not  matter ;  he  is  a  thinker,  but  he  also  feels 
sincerely,  deepl}",  and  ma)bc,  as  Ehlcrt  says, 
feels  with  his  head  and  thinks  with  his  heart. 
He  is  hardly  likely  to  become  popular  in  this 
generation,  yet  he  is  a  very  great  artist  and 
a  great  composer.  Von  Bulow  was  enjoying 
a  little  of  his  perverse  humor  when  he  spoke 
of  the  three  Bs.  |  Brahms  is  not  knee-high  to 
Bach  or  Beethoven,  yet  he  is  their  direct 
descendant,  is-of  their  classic  lineage,  although 
a  belated  romanticist,  and  the  only  man  we 
II 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

see  fit  to  mention  after  the  two  kings  of  the 
tone  art. 

This  does  not  mean  that  Schumann,  Ber- 
lioz, TschaTkowsky,  Liszt,  Wagner  and  the 
rest  are  not  as  great,  or  even  greater,  but 
simply  that  certain  immutable  and  ineluctable 
laws  of  art  are  understood  by  Brahms,  who 
prefers  to  widen  in  his  own  fashion  the  beaten 
path  rather  than  conquer  new  ones. 

In  1853  Schumann  wrote  his  New  Paths, 
and  Brahms  became  known.  Schumann  had 
doubtless  certain  affinities  with  the  young  man 
of  twenty,  and  he  also  recognized  his  strange- 
ness, for  in  the  first  bar  of  Brahms  you 
are  conscious  of  something  new,  something 
strange.  It  is  not  in  the  form,  not  in  the  idea, 
not  in  the  modulation,  rhythmical  change, 
curve  of  harmonic  line,  curve  of  melodic  line, 
yet  it  is  in  all  these  that  there  lurks  some- 
thing new,  something  individual.  This  same 
individuality  caused  Schumann  to  rub  his  eyes 
when  he  heard  the  C  major  sonata,  and  made 
Liszt  grow  enthusiastic  when  he  read  the 
scherzo  in  E  flat  minor. 

I  quite  agree  with  Spitta  that  it  is  a  mistake 
to  suppose  that  Brahms  worked  altogether  on 
the  lines  of  Bach,  Beethoven,  Mozart  and 
Schumann.  I  called  him  a  belated  roman- 
ticist  a  moment  ago    because  much    of  the 


THE    MUSIC    OF   THE   FUTURE 

content  of  his  music  is  romantic,  and  in  his 
latter  days  excessively  modern.  It  is  be- 
cause of  his  adherence  to  classic  forms,  and  his 
harking  back  to  the  methods  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  that  the  music  of  Brahms  so  often 
misleads  both  critic  and  public.  Spitta  di- 
lates most  admirably  upon  the  richness  and 
variety  of  his  tonality,  by  his  reversion  to 
almost  forgotten  manners  and  modes ;  the 
Doric,  his  characteristic  use  of  the  octave, 
the  sharpening  of  minor  thirds  and  sixths,  his 
remarkable  employment  of  the  chord  of  the 
sixth,  sharp  transitions  in  modulation,  the 
revival  of  playing  common  time  against  triple 
time,  and  the  use  of  rhythms  and  tonalities 
that  are  vague,  indeterminate  and  almost 
misleading,  without  damage  to  the  structural 
values  and  beauty  of  the  music. 

Then  in  form  Brahms  knows  the  canon 
as  no  other  composer.  Listen  to  Spitta: 
"  Schumann  had  already  seriously  studied 
and  revised  the  canon,  which  had  sunk  to 
the  level  of  an  amusing  exercise ;  Brahms 
interested  himself  in  its  stricter  construction 
and  used  it  in  a  greater  variety  of  forms. 
The  extension  and  diminution  of  the  melody 
again  —  that  is  to  say,  the  lengthening  of  the 
strain  by  doubling  the  value  of  the  notes,  or 
shortening    it    by    diminishing    their   value, 


MEZZOTINTS    IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

which  was  such  an  important  element  of  form 
in  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  came 
to  Hght  again  for  the  first  time  with  all  its 
innate  musical  vitality  when  Brahms  took  it 
up,  and  even  in  his  earliest  works  (for  in- 
stance, op.  3,  no.  2)  showed  how  thoroughly 
he  understood  it.  The  same  is  to  be  said 
of  the  method  of  inversion,  the  derivation 
of  a  new  melody  from  the  former  by  revers- 
ing the  intervals.  When  the  use  of  such 
'artifices'  —  as  they  were  called  with  an  amaz- 
ing misapprehension  of  the  very  essence  of 
music  —  had  from  time  to  time  been  ad- 
mitted, they  had  always  been  restricted  to 
what  was  termed  a  '  Gelehrten  Satz  ' ;  that  is. 
to  say,  they  were  worked  out  as  school  exer- 
cises and  formed  no  part  of  the  artist's  living 
work.  But  with  Brahms  they  pervade  all  his 
music,  and  find  a  place  as  much  in  the  piano 
sonata  and  the  simple  ballad  as  in  the  grand 
choral  pieces  with  orchestral  accompaniments. 

"  The  basso  ostinato,  with  the  styles  per- 
taining to  it  —  the  Passacaglia  and  the  Cia- 
cona — resume  their  significance  for  the 
first  time  since  Bach's  time,  and  their  intrin- 
sic importance  is  enhanced  by  the  support 
of  the  symphonic  orchestra." 

And  with  all  this,  as  Ehlert  truly  says, 
"  Brahms'  art  undoubtedly  rests  upon  the 
14 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

golden    background    of    Bach's    purity   and 
concentration." 

I  know  it  may  be  questioned  whether 
Brahms  belongs  to  the  romantic  camp,  but 
while  he  has  absorbed  with  giant-like  ease 
the  individualization  of  voices  and  the  se- 
verity of  Bach,  yet  he  is  a  modern  among 
moderns.  How  modern,  you  will  discover 
if  you  play  first  the  early  music  of  Schumann, 
or  the  music  of  Chopin's  middle  period,  and 
then  take  up  the  B  minor  rhapsody  or  some 
of  the  later  fantasias.  Brahms  then  seems  so 
near,  so  intimate,  so  full  of  vitality,  while  the 
romantic  music  has  a  flavor  of  the  rococo, 
of  the  perfume  of  the  salon,  of  that  stale 
and  morbid  and  extravagant  time  when  the 
classics  were  defied  and  Berlioz  thought  to  be 
a  bigger  man  than  Beethoven.  But  all  passes, 
and  time  has  left  us  of  Schumann's  piano 
music,  the  Symphonic  Variations,  the  F 
sharp  minor  and  the  F  minor  sonatas,  the 
fantasy  in  C  and  the  concerto,  while  the 
mists  are  slowly  enveloping  most  of  Chopin's 
earlier  music.  Doubtless  the  studies,  pre- 
ludes, the  F  minor  fantasy,  one  polonaise, 
the  barcarolle,  the  F  minor  ballade,  the  C 
sharp  minor  and  the  B  minor  scherzi  will  live 
forever,  and  I  am  not  so  sure  that  I  could 
predict  the  same  of  the  piano  music  of  Brahms. 
15 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

However,  escape  this  fact  we  cannot :  Brahms 
is  our  most  modern  music  maker,  and  if,  as 
Edward  MacDowell  sa)'s,  Tschaikowsky's 
music  ahva}-s  sounds  better  than  it  is,  the 
music  of  Brahms  is  often  better  than  it 
sounds ! 

Now  I  have  made  all  of  my  quahfications, 
and  my  single  explanation  is  this :  I  am  not 
a  reckless  Brahms  worshipper.  There  is 
much  in  his  music  that  repels,  and  I  have 
often  studied  his  piano  with  knitted  brow. 
After  the  exquisite,  poetic  tenderness  of 
Chopin,  the  overflowing  romance  of  Schu- 
mann, the  adorable  melody  of  Schubert,  and 
the  proud  pose  of  Weber  —  who  prances  by 
you  on  gayly  and  gorgeously  caparisoned 
arpeggios  —  Brahms  may  sound  cold,  formal, 
and  much  of  the  mathematician,  but  strip 
him  of  his  harsh  rind,  taste  the  sweetness, 
the  richness,  the  manliness  of  the  fruit  and 
you  will  grow  enthusiastic. 

It  would  be  easy  and  it  would  look  im- 
posing for  me  to  map  out  three  styles  in 
Brahms,  as  De  Lenz  did  with  the  piano 
sonatas  of  Beethoven.  But  it  would  be 
manifestly  absurd,  for  as  much  as  Brahms 
gained  in  mastery  and  variety  in  his  later 
years,  yet  he  was  more  Brahms  in  his 
op.  I  than  was  Chopin  in  Jiis  op.  2  —  the 
i6  - 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

famous  La  Ci  Darem,  the  variations  that 
led  Schumann  to  his  famous  discovery. 
Take,  for  instance,  the  E  flat  minor  scherzo, 
so  different  from  Chopin's  glorious  one  in 
the  same  key  in  the  B  flat  minor  sonata. 
This  scherzo  of  Brahms  is  an  op.  4,  and  he 
played  it  for  Schumann  during  the  historical 
visit  to  Diisseldorf  It  has  in  it  something  of 
Chopin,  more  in  color  than  idea,  and  it  is  so 
free,  so  flowing,  so  plastic,  so  happily  worked 
out,  that  it  must  have  come  upon  Liszt  and 
Schumann  as  something  absolutely  new.  Yet 
I  find  it  old-fashioned  compared  to  his  op. 
116  or  117  or  I  iS  or  1 19.  Even  the  rhapso- 
dies strike  a  new  note,  so  I  may  without  im- 
propriety, and  I  hope  without  pedantry,  make 
a  general  division  of  his  piano  music  into  two 
groups.  In  the  first  I  include  the  three  so- 
natas, the  scherzo  —  which  is  a  separate  opus 
—  the  variations,  the  four  ballades,  and  they* 
Walzer,  op.  39.  There  is  then  a  skip  to  op. 
']6  before  we  encounter  solo  music,  and  here 
I  begin  my  second  group  with  the  eight  ca- 
priccios  and  intermezzi.  Then  follow  the  two 
rhapsodies,  and  until  op.,  116  we  encounter 
no  piano  soli.  With  op.  119  Brahms'  contri- 
butions to  piano  literature  end.  The  two 
books  of  technical  studies,  fifty-one  in  all, 
will  be  considered,  as  will  the  Hungarian 
2  17 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

dances,  arranged  by  the  composer  from  the 
orchestral  partition. 

This  grouping  is  purely  arbitrary,  and  I 
warn  you  that  the  composer  cannot  be 
pinned  down  to  any  such  cataloguing,  for 
we  find  in  his  second  sonata,  the  one  in  F 
sharp  minor,  stuff  that  is  kin  to  his  latest 
works  and  in  some  of  his  new  fantasies  a 
reversion  to  the  Brahms  of  the  Ballades. 

Regarding  his  technics  I  can  only  recom- 
mend to  you  a  close  study  of  the  music. 
There  is  much  that  is  unusual  side  by  side 
with  the  most  trite  patterns.  He  has  a 
special  technic,  sudden  extensions,  he  is  fond 
of  tenths  and  twelfths — the  interlocking  —  for 
instance,  in  the  capriccio  in  D  minor  with  its 
devilish  rhythms  and  cross  accent,  and  the 
spreading  of  the  triplet  over  two  bars  of 
three-four  time  —  the  rapid  flights  in  chord 
playing—  all  these  things  require  a  firm  seat 
in  the  saddle,  hands  with  ten  well  individu- 
alized voices  and  a  light  wrist.  The  best 
preparation  for  Brahms  is  Bach,  then  the 
toccata  of  Schumann,  and  then  the  Brahms 
studies.  There  are  scales  in  Brahms'  music, 
but  not  many.  His  passage  work  is  of  the 
most  solid  character,  broken  chords,  double 
notes,  especially  thirds  and  sixths,  and  few 
arpeggios.  The  triolen  he  has  idealized  as 
i8 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

did  Wagner  the  essential  turn,  and  his  accom- 
paniment figures  are  always  simple,  indeed 
vital  parts  of  the  composition.  Brahms  is 
not  a  great  original  melodist.  Like  Schu- 
mann his  melodies  can  hardly  be  divorced 
-from  his  harmonies.  He  had  his  moments 
of  ecstatic  lyrism,  and  I  can  show  you  many 
specimens  of  perfect  melodies  in  his  piano 
music.  He  is  not  always  gloomy,  forbidding, 
cross-grained  and  morbid.  Take  the  first 
movement  of  the  D  major  symphony,  the 
slow  movement  of  the  F  minor  sonata,  some 
of  the  songs,  the  horn  trio,  and  tell  me  if 
this  man  cannot  unbend  the  bow,  say  lovely, 
gracious  things  and  be  even  nimble  of  wit 
and  of  gait? 

Regarding  Brahms'  muddy  orchestration, 
this  is  a  question  I  leave  to  my  betters. 
Scored  in  the  high,  violent  purples  and 
screaming  scarlets  of  Richard  Strauss,  the 
grave,  reflective,  philosophic  accents  of  the  C 
minor  and  E  minor  symphonies  would  be  as 
foolishly  attired  as  Socrates  the  day  Plato 
insisted  upon  his  donning  the  fashionable 
costume  of  Athens'  gayest  youth. 

Touching  the  muddiness  and  heaviness  of 

the  doubled  basses  of  the  piano  music,  I  may 

say  that  it  is  a  matter  of  taste.    Some  pianists, 

indeed    some   musicians,  do   not   care   for   a 

19 


MEZZOTLXTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

broad  foundational  bass.  The  arpeggio  fig- 
ure in  the  left  hand  has  been  worked  to 
death,  and  it  is  a  relief  to  find  Brahms  mak- 
ing his  accompaniment  figures  an  integer  of 
the  piece  itself. 

He  has  dealt  the  death  blow  to  the  tyranny 
of  virtuoso  passage  work.  No  composer  dare 
follow  him  and  expect  to  build  up,  to  advance, 
who  employs  passage  work  for  the  sake  of 
mere  display  of  the  desire  to  dazzle.  Every 
note  of  Brahms  belongs  to  the  framework,  to 
the  musical  scheme.  He  is  more  Hellenic 
than  Mozart  in  his  supreme  economy,  and  not 
even  Beethoven  is  more  devoted  to  formal 
beauty.  He  has  not  much  sense  of  humor, 
and  the  scherzi,  while  not  being  as  ironical  or 
as  brilliant  as  Chopin's,  are  none  the  less  mis- 
nomers. In  his  working-out  sections  the 
marvellously  inventive  and  logical  brain  of 
Brahms  is  seen  at  its  culminating  splendor. 
As  free  in  his  durchfiihrungsatz  as  the  wind, 
he  has  emancipated  the  sonata  form  in  the 
matter  of  tonality  and  in  the  matter  of  emo- 
tional content.  Excepting  Chopin  and  Wag- 
ner, no  composer  has  ever  exhibited  such 
versatility  in  the  choice  of  keys.  His  use  of 
mixed  scales  —  a  result  of  his  studies  in 
Hungarian  music  —  gives  his  music  its  in- 
tensely foreign  coloring.      There   you   have 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

Brahms,  a  German,  a  follower  of  Bach  and 
Beethoven  as  regards  pol}-phony  and  form,  a 
reticent  romanticist  and  a  lover  of  certain 
colorings  that  I  call  foreign,  because  they  are 
certainly  not  European.  He  has  appropriated 
the  Magyar  spirit  with  infinitely  more  success 
than  Liszt  —  take  the  last  movement  of  the  B 
flat  major  concerto  —  and  when  I  say  ^Magyar 
-I  mean  almost  Asiatic. 

Brahms  has  in  the  piano  concerto  freed  the 
form  forever,  while  writing  within  the  limits  of 
that  form.  His  two  concertos  are  concertos, 
not  rhapsodies  and  fantasies,  and  the  solo 
instrument,  instead  of  being  a  brilliant  but 
loquacious  gabbler  of  glittering  platitudinous 
passage  work,  is  now  the  expounder  of  the 
musical  idea  and  the  stanch  ally  of  the 
orchestra. 

Despite  his  vast  knowledge,  an  almost  mag- 
ical erudition,  there  is  a  certain  looseness  and 
want  of  finish  about  Brahms  that  is  refreshing 
in  these  days  of  Art  for  Art's  sake  and  the 
apotheosis  of  the  cameo  cutter.  He  is  never 
a  little  master,  although  he  can  work  exceed- 
ing fine  and  juggle  for  you  by  the  hour  the 
most  gorgeous  balls  of  bitter-sweet  virtuosity. 
He  is  not,  I  say,  always  the  pedant,  and  he 
can  be  as  dull  as  ditch  water  two  times  out  of 
ten.     He  has  his  feminine  side  —  his  songs  — 

21 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

but  in  the  main  he  is  a  muscular  male,  not 
given  to  over-expansion  and  not  always  com- 
panionable. 

I  agree  with  Mr.  Edgar  Kelley  that  his 
music  is  not  always  klaviermassig,  but  the 
same  objection  was  urged  against  Beethoven, 
Schumann  and  even  Chopin !  I  prefer  a 
granitic  bass,  although  the  doubling  is  not 
always  agreeable.  But  Schumann  and  Chopin 
were  sinners  in  this  respect,  especially  the 
former.  That  is  why  I  recommend  the  great 
toccata  in  C  as  a  preliminary  study  to  Brahms. 
To  sincere  antagonists  of  Brahms,  such  as 
Mr.  Henry  T.  Finck,  I  can  only  say  that  not 
every  poet  is  to  one's  taste.  Browning's 
Sordello  is  crabbed  music  after  Tennyson, 
and  Swinburne  cloying,  after  Matthew  Arnold 
or  Arthur  Hugh  Clough.  But  the  inner,  the 
spiritual  ear  is  longer  enamored  of  the  har- 
monies of  a  Brahms  or  Bach  than  of  the 
sonorous  splendors  of  Wagner  or  Verdi.  It 
is  the  still,  small  voice  discerned  in  a  Brahms 
adagio  or  a  Chopin  prelude  that  abides  by  us 
and  consoles  when  the  music  of  the  theatre 
seems  superficial  and  garish.  Those  who  do 
not  care  for  Brahms  —  let  them  choose  their 
own  musical  diet.  There  are,  however,  some 
of  us  who  prefer  his  lean  to  other  composers' 
fat.     The  light  that  beats  about  his  throne  is 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

a  trifle  dry  at  times,  but  it  is  at  least  white, 
and  the  time  comes  to  all  when  the  chromatic 
ceases  to  make  thrall,  and  line,  not  color, 
seems  the  more  beautiful.  Therefore  do  not 
follow  me  further  if  you  are  a  genuine  anti- 
Brahmsianer.  You  might  hear  unpalatable 
truths. 


II 

Brahms  must  have  been  completely  worn 
out  when  he  presented  his  credentials  to 
Schumann  one  memorable  October  morning: 
in  1853.  He  had  walked  part  of  the  way  to 
Diisseldorf  because  his  money  was  gone,  and 
not  being  of  Heinrich  Heine's  mercurial  tem- 
perament, he  probably  did  not  think  of  the 
witty  poet's  "  fine  plums  between  Jena  and 
Weimar,"  but  to  Schumann's  questioning, 
answered  by  playing  the  C  major  sonata,  his 
op.  I. 

Little  wonder  Schumann,  great  artist  and 
great  critic,  should  have  declared  of  it  that  it 
was  "  music  the  like  of  which  he  had  never 
heard  before,"  and  proclaimed  the  shy,  awk- 
ward youth  a  master.  It  was  enough  to  turn 
the  head  of  anyone  but  a  Brahms,  who  had 
just  played  at  Weimar.  Through  Liszt's 
golden  generosity  the  young  man  played  in 
23 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

concert  his  op.  4,  the  scherzo  in  E  flat  minor, 
which  Liszt  praised  warmly,  and  its  romantic 
flush  and  passion  caused  Brahms'  name  to  be 
added  as  a  strong,  promising  one  to  the 
revokitionary  and  romantic  party. 

We  heard  Von  Biilow  interpret  the  sonata 
in  C  when  he  played  here  last.  It  is  a  ster- 
ling work,  clearly,  forcibly  presented,  the  key- 
note of  the  opening  movement  being  virile 
determination.  Here  was  a  young  giant  who 
delighted  in  wrestling  with  his  material,  who 
enjoyed  its  very  manipulation.  You  can  see 
the  big  muscles  in  his  broad  back  bulge  out 
to  the  bursting  point,  for  the  task  he  had  set 
himself  was  no  facile  one.  Nurtured  on  Bach 
and  Beethoven,  the  new  music-maker  started 
out  full  of  the  ideals  of  these  two  masters,  and 
you  are  not  surprised  by  the  strong  and 
strange  resemblance  to  Beethoven's  op.  106, 
the  Hammer-Klavier  sonata  in  B  flat.  This 
resemblance  is  more  than  rhythmic,  but  it 
stops  after  the  enunciation  of  the  first  subject, 
for  following  a  subsidiary  the  lyric  theme  is 
surely  Brahms',  while  the  working-out  section, 
which  begins  with  the  use  of  the  second 
theme,  is  simply  extraordinary  for  a  beginner. 
It  reveals  all  the  devices  of  counterpoint  used 
in  the  freest  fashion,  and  doubtless  led  Schu- 
mann to  class  the  composer  as  a  romanticist, 
24 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

for  learning  never  moved  about  with  such  airy 
fantasy.  Doubtless,  too,  Schumann's  mono- 
phonic  sins  rose  before  him  in  the  presence 
of  this  genial  polyphony.  Just  compare  the 
Abegg  variations  with  the  slow  movement  of 
this  sonata  and  you  may  realize  the  superior 
educational  advantages  enjoyed  by  Brahms. 

The  andante  is  built  on  the  theme  of  an  old 
German  Minnelied,  the  words  of  which  begin 
so :  "  Verstohlen  geht  der  Mond,  blau,  blau, 
Blumelein."  The  left  hand  sounds  eight  single 
tones :  then  both  hands,  imitating  the  chorus, 
play  in  transparent  four-part  harmony.  The 
effect  is  simplicity  itself  and  seems  to  up- 
spring  from  the  very  soil  of  the  Fatherland ; 
Brahms  takes  his  subject  and  treats  it  with 
sweet  reticence,  even  to  the  coda,  one  of  his 
most  charming.  The  scherzo  leaps  boldly 
into  the  middle  of  things,  a  habit  of  Brahms, 
and  is  Beethovian  in  its  economy  of  material 
and  sharply  defined  outlines.  The  trio  is  very 
melodious ;  the  whole  movement  impresses 
you  as  the  work  of  a  musical  thinker.  The 
finale  in  strict  form  interests  me  less,  al- 
though there  is  a  characteristic  song  theme. 
The  entire  sonata  overflows  with  vigor  and 
imagination. 

The  second  sonata,  op.  2,  in  F  sharp  minor, 
brings  us  from  the  study  chamber  to  more 

25 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

stirring  life.  The  design  of  the  first  move- 
ment is  large.  We  get  the  first  touch  of  the 
grand  manner  —  and  Brahms  is  genuinely 
dramatic,  the  drama  of  the  physical  plane  as 
well  as  of  the  psychical.  There  can  be  no 
mistaking  the  accents  of  the  introduction, 
with  its  well  sustained  element  of  suspense, 
its  skips  —  a  familiar  feature  in  the  Brahms 
piano  music  —  and  the  thundering  octaves. 
Here  is  virtuosity  in  plenty  for  you  in  the 
first  two  pages,  and  if  after  playing  pages 
three  and  four  you  find  Brahms  deficient  in 
romantic  warmth,  then  let  us  unclasp  hands 
and  seek  you  some  well-footed  byway. 

This  second  theme  is  nobility  itself,  and 
written  in  full  chords ;  the  harmonies  are  not 
so  dispersed  as  you  might  imagine ;  the  effect 
is  sonorous  and  beautiful ;  of  darkness  there 
is  none,  and  the  clarity  of  the  design  is  ad- 
mirable. The  polyphonic  branches  of  this 
great  trunk  are  finely  etched  against  a  dra- 
matic background,  and  this  most  energetic 
of  allegros  has  no  savor  of  Schumann's  sonata 
in  the  same  key;  and  yet  the  temptation 
to  imitate  must  have  been  well-nigh  irre- 
sistible to  a  neophyte.  The  very  key  color 
might  tempt  even  the  most  strong  headed, 
but  Brahms  was  too  prepossessed  with  his 
own  thoughts,  and  so  we  get  a  movement 
26 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

that  is  a  great  step  in  advance  over  the  first 
sonata. 

Both  the  second  and  third  movements  are 
built  on  the  same  thematic  idea,  an  extremely 
simple  one  of  four  notes,  B,  C,  D,  A  sharp, 
with  an  answer.  The  key  is  B  minor.  The 
scherzo  is  extremely  ingenious.  The  trio  is 
in  D,  and  abounds  in  harmonic  and  rhythmic 
variety.  The  last  movement  actually  contains 
in  the  introduction  a  scale  run.  The  move- 
ment itself  reminds  me,  but  in  an  odd,  per- 
verted way,  of  the  second  movement  of 
Beethoven's  sonata,  op.  90,  in  E  minor.  The 
finale  contains  a  big  climax,  also  in  scales  that 
look  very  un-Brahmsian.  This  sonata  in  F 
sharp  minor  is  much  more  significant  than  its 
predecessor. 

When  you  have  reached  the  third  sonata 
in  F  minor,  op.  5,  the  broad,  far-reaching 
uplands  of  the  composer's  genius  are  clearly 
discerned,  for  his  two  earlier  efforts  in  the 
sonata  form,  despite  their  mastery  of  technics 
of  form,  still  remain  grounded  on  the  territory 
of  Beethoven  and  even  of  Schumann.  But  in 
the  third  sonata  we  are  impressed  by  a  cer- 
tain passionate  grandeur  and  originality  of 
utterance,  a  freedom  and  elasticity  of  move- 
ment, a  more  nervous  fibre,  a  deeper  feeling, 
a  deeper  fire.  I  consider  —  and  remember 
27 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

that  my  single  opinion  is  nothing  as  compared 
to  the  number  of  them  that  beheve  the  same 
—  that  in  the  F  minor  sonata  the  most  beau- 
tiful in  the  genius  of  Brahms  has  flowered. 
The  first  allegro  is  heaven-storming,  the  sec- 
ond theme,  oh  !  so  like  the  master  at  his  best, 
while  page  after  page  unrolls. for  us  the  warp 
and  woof  of  the  most  logical  musical  imagina- 
tion since  Bach.  Brahms  not  a  melodist ! 
Read  that  first  movement,  and  if  that  does 
not  convince  you,  play  the  andante  in  A  flat, 
the  most  exquisite  lyrical  thing  he  has  ever 
penned  for  piano.  Its  motto  is  from  Ster- 
nau,  "  Der  Abend  dammert,  das  Mondlicht 
scheint,"  and  the  picture  is  magical  in  its 
tender  beauty  and  suggestiveness.  It  harks 
back  to  the  old  world  romance,  to  some 
moonlit  dell,  wherein  love  hovers  for  a  night, 
and  about  all  is  the  mystery  of  sky  and  wood. 
Take  the  poco  piu  lento,  in  four-sixteenth 
time,  with  its  recurring  sixths,  divided  so 
amorously  for  two  hands ;  with  any  one  else 
but  Brahms  this  well  used  interval  would  be 
banal,  but  he  knows  its  possibilities  and  the 
entire  section  with  the  timid-sweet  chords  of 
the  tenth  evokes  a  mood  seldom  met  with. 
Moonlight  may  be  hinted  at,  as  in  the  middle 
part,  the  trio  of  Chopin's  scherzo  in  B  minor. 
Here  is  an  analogous  picture.  The  coda  has 
28 


THE    MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

always  brought  back  to  me  Hans  Sachs' 
"  Dem  Vogel  der  heut'  sang."  Yes,  Brahms 
knew  his  Wagner,  too,  and  no  doubt  would 
have  laughed  in  his  gnomic  beard  if  you  had 
mentioned  the  mood-resemblance.  Moriz 
Moszkowski  has  also  seized  the  same  idea,  for 
in  his  Momen  Musicale  in  C  sharp  minor  he 
has  for  a  second  subject  this  identical  one. 
It  comes  originally  from  Schumann's  song, 
Sonntags  am  Rhein,  The  resemblance  to  the 
Meistersinger  lies  principally  in  the  third  bar 
of  this  coda  in  the  upward  inflection.  Brahms 
has  treated  the  entire  movement  with  unsur- 
passable poetry.  In  the  scherzo  which  follows 
he  is  at  his  best;  a  certain  grim,  diaboHc 
humor  being  hurled  at  you  as  if  some  being, 
ambuscaded  in  Parnassus,  took  pleasure  in 
showering  heavy  masses  of  metal  on  your 
unprotected  head.  The  tempo  suggests  the 
valse,  but  an  epical  valse.  This  is  the  great- 
est scherzo  ever  composed  by  Brahms,  and 
the  trio  takes  us  back  to  Beethoven. 

In  the  intermezzo  —  the  Riickblick  —  the 
resemblance  to  Mendelssohn  has  not  escaped 
Mr.  Fuller-Maitland.  It  is  in  the  key  of  B 
flat  minor,  and  is  a  far-off  echo,  as  if  heard 
through  sad,  falling  waters,  of  the  theme  of 
the  andante.  The  bass  is  naught  else  —  and 
this  no  writer  has  dared  or  perhaps  thought 
29 


MEZZOTINTS    IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

necessary  to  notice  —  than  the  Funeral  March 
from  Mendelssohn's  Songs  Without  Words. 
The  familiar  triplet  in  thirty-second  notes  em- 
phasizes the  similarity,  but  what  a  vast  distance 
there  is  in  this  tragic  page,  full  of  veiled 
suffering,  and  the  pretty  and  elegiac  march  of 
Mendelssohn ! 

The  finale  is  strong  and  full  of  character- 
istic agitation.  The  technics  throughout  are 
Beethoven's,  but  a  latter  day  Beethoven. 
Heavy  chord  work,  no  scales,  passages, 
extreme  clearness  and  plenty  of  involved 
rhythms.  The  character  of  this  sonata  is 
lofty,  not  altogether  serene,  but  the  strong, 
self-contained  soul  is  there ;  it  is  music  for 
men  of  strong  nerves  and  big  hearts,  and  not 
for  the  sick  or  shallow  brained. 

There  is  a  piano  sonata  arranged  from  the 
sextet  in  B  flat  for  strings.  It  is  not  the 
arrangement  of  Brahms,  but  by  Robert  Kel- 
ler, and  is  not  difficult.  It  is  chiefly  interest- 
ing because  of  its  being  an  agreeable  and 
available  score  of  the  famous  chamber  music. 

The  scherzo  in  E  flat  minor  is  a  separate 
opus  —  four  in  the  published  list.  Whether 
it  was  ev^er  intended  to  fit  in  the  more  ex- 
tended scheme  we  do  not  know;  probably 
Dr.  Hanslick  could  enlighten  us.  It  is  the 
airiest  and  loveliest  thing  imaginable,  and 
30 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

while  the  composer  solves  some  very  pretty 
canonic  problems,  the  learning  is  never  bur- 
densome. As  if  Brahms  had  resolved  to  let 
gravit}'  go  hence,  he  wings  his  way  in  grace- 
ful plastic  flight,  not  forgetting  in  his  second 
theme  to  give  Grieg  the  melodic  idea  for  the 
first  allegro  of  the  popular  piano  concerto. 
There  are  two  trios,  both  interesting,  the  sec- 
ond more  to  my  taste,  because  of  its  lyricism. 
Just  here  we  get  a  Chopin  touch  in  the  C 
sharp  minor  theme,  with  its  rolling,  arpeggi- 
ated  basses.  The  development  and  return  of 
the  subject  is  most  happily  managed.  Why 
this  piano  piece  does  not  figure  often  upon 
the  programmes  of  recitals  is  only  to  be  ex- 
plained by  the  hide-bound,  timid  conser\'atism 
of  the  average  concert  pianist.  I  swear  to 
you  I  firmly  believe  that  the  decadence  of  the 
piano  recital  —  and  who  can  deny  that  it  is  not 
in  decay  —  is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  fact  that 
the  scheme  of  the  programmes  is  so  lugubri- 
ously monotonous.  Bach-Liszt,  Beethoven 
sonata,  Chopin  or  Schumann  group,  Liszt 
Hungarian  rhapsody,  there  you  have  it  season 
after  season ;  whereas,  a  far-seeing  pianist 
might  introduce  an  occasional  novelty  by 
Brahms,  or  indeed  by  any  one,  and  Avith  the 
thin  edge  of  the  wedge  once  in,  a  complete 
topsy-turveying  of  old  methods  would  ensue, 
31 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

and  what  a  boon  would  it  not  be  for  the  con- 
cert-goer ! 

The  ballades  do  not  next  claim  our  notice 
by  right  of  opus,  for  the  variations,  op.  9,  fol- 
low the  sonata  in  F  minor,  ops.  6,  7  and  8 
being  given  over  to  two  sets  of  six  songs  and 
the  familiar  piano  trio  in  B.  But  I  prefer 
treating  the  six  books  of  variations  together. 
The  ballades,  four  in  number,  are  labelled  op. 
10.  The  first  in  D  minor  has  the  narrative 
quality  imperatively  demanded  by  the  form, 
but  Brahms  has  his  own  notions  about  the 
time  beat,  and  so  we  find  the  first  two  in 
common  time  instead  of  the  usual  triple 
measure.  Thus  there  is  a  gain  in  dignity 
and  stateliness.  The  D  minor  ballade  is 
rather  a  lugubrious  work  divided  into  an 
andante  and  allegro.  The  empty  fifth  har- 
mony in  the  bass,  the  slow  progression  in 
the  treble,  gives  the  theme  a  mournful  and 
Gaelic  character.  In  runic  tones  the  tale 
of  Herder's  Scottish  ballade,  Edward,  is 
told,  and  the  dead  hero  home  to  his  love 
is  brought.  The  section  in  D,  with  its  trip- 
lets, gives  us  some  surcease  from  the  gloom, 
although  there  is  a  peculiarly  hollow  effect 
in  the  triplet  imitation  in  the  bass.  This 
ballade  is  almost  sinister  in  coloring  and 
touches  of  Brahms'  irony  are  present.  It  is 
32 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

not  a  piece  for  joyous,  festive  celebrations, 
but  is  nevertheless,  finely  felt,  finely  wrought 
music. 

The  next  one  in  D  is  almost  popular  and 
is  very  lovely  and  original.  The  theme,  so 
gentle,  so  winning,  so  heartfelt,  is  sung  in 
octaves,  and  although  the  intervals  are  not 
favorable  for  a  legato,  yet  a  perfect  legato 
is  demanded.  The  first  page  of  this  ballade 
must  needs  loosen  the  obdurate  heart  strings 
of  a  Finck.  The  second  theme  in  B  minor 
is  in  strong  contrast  rhythmically,  in  content 
being  stern  and  imperious.  I  confess  the 
molto  staccato  Icggiero  is  a  bit  of  Brahms 
that  always  puzzles  me.  I  find  analogies  in 
Beethoven,  in  those  mysterious  pianissimi  in 
his  symphonies  and  concertos  where  the  soul 
is  almost  freed  from  the  earthly  vesture  and 
for  a  moment  hovers  about  in  the  twilight 
of  uncertain  tonalities  and  rhythms.  Brahms, 
as  Ehlert  says,  has  this  gift  of  catching  and 
imprisoning  moods  that  for  want  of  a  better 
name  we  call,  spiritual.  The  awe,  the  awful 
mystery  of  the  life  in  us,  the  life  about  us, 
is  felt  by  Beethoven  and  Brahms  and  mar- 
vellously expressed  by  them.  The  reappear- 
ance, to  give  an  example  of  what  I  mean, 
of  the  theme  of  the  scherzo  in  the  last  move- 
ment of  Beethoven's  fifth  symphony  has  just 
3  33 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

such  a  ghostly  effect.  Later  on  I  shall  quote 
other  instances  in  Brahms.  In  the  D  major 
ballade  the  return  to  the  first  idea  and  in  the 
luscious  key  of  B  is  charming,  and  the  piece 
ends  in  soft  seolian  harmonies.  This  ballade 
is  a  masterpiece  in  miniature. 

The  third  ballade  in  B  minor  is  in  the 
nature  of  an  intermezzo.  The  open  fifths 
in  the  bass  give  the  piece  an  ironic  tinge, 
and  the  figure  of  the  opening  recalls  in- 
stantly to  the  student  a  similar  one  in  the  E 
flat  minor  scherzo.  Indeed,  to  push  the  simile 
further,  this  intermezzo  might  be  almost 
taken  for  a  sarcastic,  an  ironic  commen- 
tary upon  the  earlier  composition.  In  six- 
eight  time,  it  is  a  swinging  allegro,  and  the 
ethereal  hush  of  the  second  part  is  an  ex- 
cellent foil.  The  fourth  ballade  in  B  com- 
mends itself  to  the  pianist  of  moderate  ability, 
for  it  is  not  difficult  and  is  very  cantabile. 
Simplicity  of  idea  and  treatment  is  main- 
tained throughout.  The  middle  section  is 
full  of  intimate  feeling  and  poetic  murmur- 
ings.  It  requires  a  beautiful  touch  and  a 
mastery  of  the  pedals.  These  four  ballades 
should  be  on  the  piano  of  every  aspiring 
pianist.  They  are  able  illustrations  of  what 
Brahms  can  do  in  small,  concise  forms. 
They  must  not  be  compared  to  the  more 
34 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

extended  form  and  more  florid  content  of 
the  Chopin  ballades,  which  are  in  the  main 
unapproachable.  With  Brahms  there  is  no 
suspicion  of  a  set  piece ;  in  Chopin  the  vir- 
tuoso often  faces  us.  It  is,  after  all,  the 
German  and  the  Pole,  and  further  commen- 
tary would  be  superfluous. 

And  now  to  the  piano  variations.  Brahms 
is  not  only  the  greatest  variationist  of  his 
times,  but  with  Bach  and  Beethoven  the 
greatest  of  all  times.  Oddly  enough,  we 
must  join  Brahms'  name  with  the  two 
earlier  masters  whenever  we  approach  the 
serious,  the  severe  side  of  the  art.  I  refer 
to  Spitta's  pertinent  remark  about  the  varia- 
tion form. 

The  old  variation  form,  above  all,  he  says, 
is  brought  out  from  the  treasures  of  the 
old  composers,  and  glorified  in  his  hands. 
Brahms'  variations  are  something  quite  dif- 
ferent from  what  had  been  commonly  known 
by  that  name.  Their  prototype  is  Bach's 
aria  with  thirty  variations,  and  this  work  is 
an  elaboration  of  the  form  known  as  the  pas- 
sacaglia.  In  this  the  determining  idea  is  not 
the  addition  of  figures  or  of  various  accom- 
paniments to  the  theme  or  melody,  but  the 
persistent  identity  of  the  bass.  This  con- 
tinues the   same    through  all  the  variations; 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

upon  that,  a  free  treatment  is  worked  out — ■ 
not,  however,  exchiding  an  occasional  refer- 
ence to  the  original  melody.  Beethoven  so 
far  adhered  to  the  usually  accepted  form  as 
to  restrict  the  supremacy  of  the  bass  to  alter- 
nate use  with  variations  in  the  melody,  and 
Schumann  followed  his  example.  This  form 
was  not  adopted  by  other  great  masters,  and 
even  Beethoven  and  Schumann  only  occasion- 
ally used  it.  Brahms,  so  rich  in  inventive 
combinations,  stands  nearer  to  Bach  than  to 
Beethoven,  but  has  much  of  Beethoven's  freer 
style  of  treatment.  Augmentation  or  diminu- 
tion of  the  phrases  forming  the  theme  are  a 
manner  of  variation  never  used  by  Beethoven, 
and  employed  by  Brahms  only  in  the  varia- 
tions in  the  two  first  sonatas,  and  in  the 
independent  Air  with  Variations,  op.  9.  In 
this  it  is  often  surprisingly  ingenious,  but 
he  must  have  thought  the  process  incom- 
patible with  his  strict  sense  of  form,  just  as 
he  gave  up  changes  of  key  from  one  varia- 
tion to  the  next,  which  Schumann  often 
used  and  Beethoven  allowed  him.self  only 
once  (op.  34). 

The  first  set  of  variations  made  by  Brahms 

is  on  a  theme  of  Schumann  in  F  sharp  minor. 

It   is    a    beautiful    theme,    marked    Ziemlich 

Langsam,  and  is  familiar  to  all  Schumann  stu- 

36 


THE    MUSIC    OF   THE   FUTURE 

dents;  for  it  is,  if  I  remember  aright,  the  first 
of  the  Albumblatter.  These  variations  dimly 
reveal  the  inexhaustible  fancy  of  the  com- 
poser. He  views  his  subject  from  every  pos- 
sible viewpoint ;  he  sees  it  as  a  philosopher, 
he  grimly  contemplates  it  as  a  cynic  ;  he  sings 
it  in  mellifluous  accents,  he  plays  with  it,  teases 
it  contrapuntally,  and  alternately  freezes  it  into 
glittering  stalactites  and  disperses  it  in  warm, 
violet-colored  vapors.  The  theme  is  never 
lost;  it  lurks  behind  formidable  ambushes  of 
skips,  double  notes  and  octaves,  or  it  slaps 
you  in  the  face,  its  voice  threatening,  its  size 
ten  times  increased  by  its  harmonic  garb.  It 
wooes,  caresses,  sighs,  smiles,  coquets,  and 
sneers — in  a  word,  a  modern  magician  weaves 
for  you  the  most  delightful  stories  imaginable, 
all  the  while  damnably  distracting  your  atten- 
tion and  harrowing  your  nerves  by  spinning 
in  the  air  polyphonic  cups,  saucers,  plates 
and  balls,  and  never  letting  them  for  a  mo- 
ment reach  the  earth. 

Louis  Ehlert  believes  that  the  Brahms 
variation  was  begotten  by  a  classical  father, 
the  thirty-two  variations  of  Beethoven  ;  and  a 
romantic  mother,  the  Symphonic  Studies  of 
Schumann.  The  comparison  is  apt  enough. 
The  first  variation  on  the  F  sharp  minor 
theme  of  Schumann  seems  more  like  a  quiet 
37 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

restatement  of  the  idea;  in  the  second  the 
bass  becomes  very  important;  the  third  calls 
for  no  special  mention,  but  the  fourth  and  fifth 
are  bold,  capricious,  and  the  sixth  very  brill- 
iant ;  the  seventh  is  very  short,  but  pregnant, 
and  the  eighth  is  superb.  A  pedal  bass  sup- 
ports the  faintly  whispered  theme,  which  is 
heard  in  waving  rhythms,  as  the  sobbing  of 
the  wind  through  the  trees.  In  Paderewski's 
strongly  individualized  Variations  in  A  minor 
there  is  a  variation  built  in  this  fashion,  and 
you  may  find,  in  Tschaikowsky's  interesting 
Variations  in  F,  another  example. 

In  the  famous  ninth  variation  of  this  set  we 
find  Brahms  indulging  in  a  very  delicate  and 
ingenious  fancy.  He  has  combined  with  the 
original  theme  the  entire  arpeggio  work  of 
Schumann's  little  piece  in  B  minor  from  the 
Bunten  Blattern,  op.  99,  no.  5.  As  Spitta 
says,  how  thoroughly  Brahms  had  thought  out 
the  spirit  of  the  variation  is  seen  in  the  fact 
that  he  is  fond  of  interchanging  the  modula- 
tory relations  of  the  two  phrases  of  the  theme. 
The  place  where  this  generally  occurs  is  at  the 
beginning  of  the  second  part ;  but  also  in  the 
second  half  of  the  first  part.  The  digressions, 
more  or  less  important,  which  he  admits,  are 
always  so  chosen  that  the  effect  of  the  newly 
introduced  key  approximately  answers  to  that 
38 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

produced  by  the  original  key  of  the  preced- 
ing or  following  phrase.  Even  the  cadenzas 
appear  altered  from  this  point  of  view. 

In  the  tenth  the  bass  is  used  in  the  upper 
part,  and  the  subject  derived  from  the  dimin- 
ishing to  half  or  quarter  notes  of  the  begin- 
ning of  the  subject;  the  essential  harmonies 
are  preserved  in  the  same  succession,  while 
the  subject  is  worked  out  to  fill  the  required 
measures,  so  the  reflections  of  the  theme  are 
diverse  and  glancing. 

The  eleventh  variation  is  brief,  but  full  of 
meat,  and  in  it  the  main  idea  almost  disap- 
pears in  cloudy  octaves,  in  which  an  occasional 
middle  voice  may  be  faintly  discerned.  The 
twelfth  is  a  heart-breaker,  and  bold  to  ex- 
tremes. The  coda  ends  in  a  whirlwind  of 
skips,  and  the  wonder-working  of  the  Paganini 
studies  is  dimly  presaged. 

No.  13  is  in  the  shape  of  a  toccata  in  doubls 
notes,  and  is  capital ;  but  my  favorite  varia- 
tion, over  which  you  ma\'  dream  soft,  summer 
night  dreams,  is  the  next,  the  fourteenth. 
This  is  a  true  nocturne,  and  its  hesitating 
tones,  over  an  undulating  bass,  tell  of  the 
dear,  dead  Chopin,  lying  near  Bellini,  in  Pere 
la  Chaise. 

Variation  fifteen  is  in  G  flat  and  in  the 
Lydian  mode,  the  coda-finale  is  as  if  Brahms 
39 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

feared  to  part  from  hi?  theme  and  took  a  lin- 
gering leave  taking., ^  These  variations  are 
worthy  of  the  deepest  study. 


Ill 

The  Walzer,  op.  39,  were  not  written  first 
for  two  hands,  but  for  four.  The  composer 
arranged  them  afterward  for  solo-  purposes. 
They  are  divine  specimens  of  the  dance,  and 
I  prefer  them  even  to  Rubinstein,  and  that  is 
saying  much,  for  the  Russian  has  left  many 
admirable  examples. 

Any  comparison  with  the  Chopin  valse  is 
of  course  out  of  the  question.  Chopin  wrote, 
as  Liszt  truthfully  said,  for  countesses,  and 
in  his  aristocratic  measures  we  feel  the  swirl 
of  silken  skirts,  divine  the  perfume  of  the 
fashionable  salon  and  hear  the  soft  pulsations 
of  delicate,  half  uttered  confidences.  The 
room  rustles  with  the  patter  of  beauty's  feet, 
but  after  all  it  is  a  drawing  room;  not  a 
breath  of  the  open    is  there. 

There  are  some  of  the  Chopin  valses  that 
are  not  only  mediocre,  but  positively  bad. 
Take  the  first,  the  one  in  E  flat,  is  it  not 
actually  vulgar?  And  the  one  in  A  flat  that 
follows  is  not  much  better.  The  A  minor 
valse  is  elegiac,  even  unto  the  Mendelssohnian 
40 


THE   l\rUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

point.  It  is  when  the  A  flat  valse,  op.  42,  is 
reached  that  we  get  a  taste  of  the  true  Chopin. 
This  with  the  one  in  C  sharp  minor,  the  post- 
humous valse  in  E  minor  and  the  dehghtfully 
developed  dance  in  A  flat  are  Chopin  at  his 
dancing  best.  The  D  flat  valse  is  something 
to  be  avoided,  simply  because  of  the  woful 
way  it  has  been  misrepresented  by  pianists. 
I  don't  allude  to  double-noting  the  unfortu- 
nate piece,  but  to  the  erroneous  fashion  of 
playing  the  first  section  too  fast  and  the  sec- 
ond too  slow.  Georges  IVIathias,  of  Paris,  a 
genuine  Chopin  pupil,  said  that  the  master 
took  the  tempo  rather  moderately,  making  an 
accelerando  on  the  up  run,  ending  with  a  little 
click  on  B  flat.  The  rubato,  so  M.  Mathias 
declared,  was  indescribably  beautiful ;  there- 
fore, unless  the  Chopin  tradition  is  carried 
out,  let  the  Valse  de  Chien  rest  its  tiresome 
little  bark  in  peace.  With  the  E  flat  nocturne, 
it  has  become  a  nuisance. 

The  musical  content  of  the  Chopin  valse  is 
a  certain  suavity,  distincti\-e  grace,  charming 
rhythm  and  aristocratic  melod}',  and  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  few  of  these  qualities  can  be  found 
in  the  Brahms  Walzer.  But  as  is  the  case 
with  Schubert,  Brahms  dances  more  poeti- 
cally, and  always  in  the  open  air.  Sometimes 
the  round  verge  of  the  sun  blazes  overhead 
41 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   jMODERN   MUSIC 

in  the  blue,  and  you  hear  the  muscular  jolt 
of  large  limbed  men  and  women  taking  their 
pleasure  heartily,  then  the  aromatic  night 
of  the  forest  encompasses  you,  and  the  sound 
of  dancing  is  heard,  but  afar.  Poetry  is  in 
the  air  and  passion  too,  and  exquisite  is  the 
sound  and  exquisite  the  suggestion. 

Take  the  first  dance  of  the  op.  39.  It  is 
in  the  key  of  B,  and  harmonized  in  the 
lustiest,  freest  fashion  imaginable.  It  opens 
boldly,  joyously,  with  the  decisiveness  we 
know  so  well  in  the  preambule  to  Schumann's 
Carneval.  It  is  but  a  page  long,  and  a  small 
page  at  that,  but  there  is  no  mistaking  its 
worth. 

The  second  valse  in  E  has  an  entrancing 
lilt,  marked  dolce ;  it  is  well  named.  The 
mood  is  nocturnal,  the  color  subdued,  but 
none  the  less  full  of  glancing  richness.  Then 
follow  two  tiny  gems,  as  precious  almost  as 
some  of  Chopin's  preludes.  The  one  is  in 
the  warm  and  neglected  key  of  G  sharp 
minor,  the  other  in  E  minor.  The  first 
has  the  pulse  beat  of  Chopin,  the  second  is 
Hungarian  and  lovely,  and  the  brace  of  har- 
monic progressions  at  the  close  is  worth 
living  for. 

If  there  could  be  such  a  thing  as  a  sacred 
valse,  then  No.  5  of  the  seriete  is  sacred.  In 
42 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

the  key  of  E,  you  can  sense  the  valse,  but 
the  theme  is  serious  to  gravity,  just  as  a 
Chopin  scherzo  is  a  tragic  poem.  One  feels 
Hke  echoing  Robert  Schumann's  "  How  is 
gravity  to  clothe  itself  if  jest  goes  about  in 
dark  veils?  " 

C  sharp  major  is  the  key  of  No.  6,  and  has 
a  touch  of  the  fantastic  element  that  we  find 
in  the  variations.  No.  7  in  C  sharp  minor- 
major  is  full  of  harmonic  variety.  My  two 
favorites  of  the  set  are  the  valses  in  B  flat 
and  D  minor.  Both  are  poems.  The  one  in 
B  flat  is  a  proof  positive  of  Brahms'  "genial- 
ity." In  a  small  piano  piece  by  the  Russian 
Liadow,  the  same  melodic  and  rhythmic  idea 
is  utilized ;  even  the  pretty  modulation  from 
B  flat  to  D  flat  is  not  overlooked.  Then  on 
the  page  opposite  in  the  valse  in  D  minor, 
Brahms  pilfers  boldly  from  Schumann.  In 
the  Pieces  Caracteristiques  (Die  Davids- 
biindler)  No.  18,  in  C,  certainly  prompted 
Brahms,  but  with  what  ease  and  variety  has 
he  not.  handled  the  other  man's  theme  !  It 
is  like  a  sigh,  an  unshed  tear,  and  is  more 
Brahms  than  it  is  Schumann. 

By  a  clever  suspension  we  are  at  once  led 

to  dance  No.  10  in  G.     The  next  valse  in  B 

minor  might  have  been  written  b}-  Schubert. 

It   is    a    charming   pendant    to   the    Momec 

43 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Musicale,    or    is    it     an     impromptu     in    F 
minor? 

There  are  sixteen  in  all  and  I  have  briefly 
indicated  the  principal  ones,  although  there 
is  yet  another  in  the  key  of  G  sharp  minor 
and  a  delightful  one  in  A  flat,  No.  15.  This 
has  the  true  tang  of  Brahms,  the  amiability, 
the  large,  sweet  nature,  the  touch  of  life  that 
we  call  universal  when  we  find  it  in  Shakes- 
peare, f  Brahms  is  far  from  being  a  poet  of 
the  universal,  for  he  is  too  German,  lacks 
marked  profile  and  is  more  the  philosopher 
than  the  bard.  Yet  has  he  something  of 
fulness  of  life ;  the  strenuous  ideality  that 
is  always  found  in  world-poets. 

Remember,  too,  that  I  am  considering  the 
man  from  the  points  of  view  of  his  piano 
works.  Consider  the  great  German  Requiem, 
the  C  minor  symphony,  the  D  minor  piano 
concerto,  before  you  class  this  composer  as 
a  specialist  working  within  well  defined  limi- 
tations. I  dislike  playing  the  part  of  an 
advocate  when  all  should  be  so  clear  in  the 
Brahms  question,  but  I  do  so  because  of  his 
supreme  indifference  to  what  anyone  thought 
of  his  theory  and  practice,  and  also  because 
of  the  cloud  thrown  over  him  by  his  warmest 
enemies  and  most  misguided  admirers.  That 
he  lives,  that  he  gains  continually  in  strength, 
44 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

and  this,  too,  in  spite  of  the  Brahmsianer,  is  a 
satisfactory  guarantee  of  his  genius. 

Let  me  quote  for  you  what  Louis  Ehlert  — 
by  no  means  a  Brahmsianer  —  wrote  of  the 
Walzer :  "  Having  in  time  assumed  an  ordinary 
and  most  material  character,  dance  music  has 
been  led  back  to  the  domain  of  high  art  by 
Schubert  and  Chopin.  Dancing  may  be  ac- 
complished in  many  ways :  passionately,  in- 
differently, distractedly  or  symbolically.  The 
symbolic  dancer  will  introduce  in  his  motions 
the  poetic  idea  underlying  the  dance ;  that 
is,  the  fleeting,  half  confidential,  and  yet  not 
binding,  contact  of  one  person  with  another 
of  the  opposite  sex,  a  sort  of  rhythmic  dia- 
logue without  words.  And  Brahms  pos- 
sessed the  gift  of  substantiating  his  mastery 
in  this  field  by  the  charm  of  half  revealed 
sentiment,  by  the  modest  denial  of  the 
scarcely  uttered  confession  and  by  his  power 
of  rendering  the  wildest  yearnings  speechless 
with  confusion. 

"  At  times,  it  is  true,  he  handles  his  sub- 
ject in  a  more  decided  manner,  but  the  most 
beautiful  among  his  w^altzes  are  those  whose 
cheeks  are  tinged  with  blushes.  Brahms 
carried  the  freshness  of  youth  into  his  later 
years,  and  blushes  are  peculiarly  becoming 
to  him.  His  sweetest  melodies  are  merely 
45 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

tinted  with  a  rosy  hue ;  they  do  not  possess 
the  deep,  summery  complexion  of  Schubert's. 
The  small  opus  has  become  the  ancestor  of 
a  small  literature,  and  many  of  our  contem- 
porary musicians  have  walked  in  the  way  of 
the  Brahms  waltzes." 

Elsewhere  he  says  of  the  Love  Song 
Waltzes  for  mixed  quartet,  with  four- 
handed  piano  accompaniment:  "Schumann 
and  Chopin  have  themselves  scarcely  suc- 
ceeded in  arriving  at  a  more  intellectual 
and  poetic  form  of  the  dance."  And  remem- 
ber Ehlert  wrote  of  Brahms :  "  His  fancy  is 
lacking  in  melodic  tide,"  and  also,  "  Brahms' 
music  has  no  profile ;  ...  by  this  remark  I 
do  not  mean  absolute  censure,  for,  like  Han- 
del, one  can  have  too  much  profile,  too  much 
nose  and  chin,  and  too  little  of  the  full  glance 
of  the  eye." 

I  transcribe  all  this  to  show  you  the  im- 
pression made  upon  his  doubting  contempo- 
raries by  this  richly  gifted  composer. 


IV 

In  op.  21  there  are  two  sets  of  variations  — 

one  in  D,  on  an  original  theme,  the  second  in 

the  same  key,  on  a  Hungarian  song.     They 

are  both  excellent  preparatory  studies  for  the 

46 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

more  famous  pair.  In  them  we  get  the  pecu- 
liar Brahms  technic  amply  illustrated  —  for 
instance,  the  first  variation  of  the  opus.  It 
begins  with  a  characteristic  figure  in  the  bass, 
the  harmonic  extensions  showing  how  ingen- 
iously Brahms  handled  the  arpeggio,  avoiding 
a  tone,  accentuating  another  and  gaining  new 
color.  There  are  some  interesting  variations 
in  this  set,  No.  7,  with  its  wide  intervals ;  No. 
9,  another  pedal  bass  effect  with  huge  skips 
that  look  like  yawning  precipices,  yet  I  do 
not  particularly  care  for  the  set,  although  con- 
stant study  of  Brahms  reveals  new  points  of 
interest.  The  variations  on  a  Hungarian  song 
are  even  less  fruitful  in  treatment,  but  will 
repay  study. 

When,  however,  we  take  up  op.  24,  varia- 
tions and  fugue  on  a  theme  by  Handel,  we 
begin  to  sense  the  extraordinary  fertility  of 
Brahms.  The  theme  itself,  in  B  flat,  is  a 
square-toed  aria,  and  what  Brahms  does  with 
it  is  most  entertaining,  ingenious  and  musi- 
cianly.  From  the  very  first  variation,  surely 
full  of  humor,  we  get  a  view  of  the  possibili- 
ties of  the  variation  form.  I  am  not  sure  but 
that  these  variations  are  more  ingenuous,  less 
sophisticated,  and  contain  less  of  the  etude 
than  the  Paganini  variations.  As  they  are 
occasionally  played  I  shall  not  go  into  de- 
47 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

tailed  description  of  the  difficulties,  except 
to  say  that  the  entire  twenty-five  are  alive 
with  musical  invention  and  a  certain  genial 
feeling,  a  geniality  that  eminently  suits  the 
ruddy-cheeked  tune  of  Handel.  There  is 
the  fifth  variation  in  B  flat  minor,  there 
is  the  fourth  with  its  bass  and  treble  dia- 
logue, the  fourteenth  in  double  sixths  and 
the  energetic  attack  of  the  nineteenth  are 
all  noteworthy. 

The  fugue  is  a  capital  specimen  of  close 
treatment,  yet  in  spirit  very  free.  I  do  not 
begin  to  find  it  as  dry  as  certain  of  the 
Beethoven  fugues,  and  it  is  devilishly  tricky. 

The  variations  on  the  Paganini  theme  in 
A  minor  are  frankly  studies,  but  transcenden- 
tal studies,  only  fit  to  be  mentioned  in  com- 
pany with  Liszt's.  Apparently  the  top-notch 
of  virtuosity  had  been  reached  and  there  re- 
mained nothing  for  Brahms  to  do  but  let  an 
astonishingly  fantastic  imagination  loose  and 
play  pranks  that  would  have  caused  Schu- 
mann to  shout  with  admiration.  The  very 
first  variation  is  a  subtle  compliment  to 
Schumann's  toccata,  and  the  second,  with 
the  sixths  in  the  left  hand,  is  very  trying  for 
players  with  short-breathed  fingers.  In  the 
third  we  get  rolling  rhythms  that  excite  more 
than  they  lull.  In  the  fourth  Brahms  asks 
48 


THE    MUSIC    OF   THE   FUTURE 

too  much  of  mortal  man  with  a  top  trill  on  a 
chord,  the  left  hand  gambolling  over  the  im- 
possible. Then  follow  some  octave  studies 
the  reverse  of  easy,  especially  the  ninth  in 
chords.  The  eleventh  is  a  veritable  toccata ; 
the  thirteenth  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and 
popular  of  the  set.  The  fourteenth  is  terrible, 
exacting  and  long,  for  it  closes  the  set. 
Brahms,  to  use  a  faded  figure  of  speech  piles 
Pelion  upon  Ossa  in  the  coda. 

The  second  book  starts  in  with  a  tremen- 
dous and  exciting  study  in  double  notes,  and 
the  sudden  muscular  contractions  and  expan- 
sion caused  by  alternations  of  double  thirds 
and  octaves  is  exhausting  to  anyone  but  a 
virtuoso.  The  tenth  variation,  marked  Feroce, 
energico,  exhibits  skilful  use  of  arpeggio  forms, 
and  the  eleventh  variation  is  simply  bafRing. 
In  the  next  one  we  get  a  breathing  spell,  one 
of  those  green  melodic  oases  in  which  Brahms 
proves  to  }'ou  how  easy  it  is  for  a  great,  strong 
soul  to  be  gentle  and  tender. 

It  may  not  be  considered  amiss  here  to  take 
a  passing  glance  at  some  of  Brahms'  daily 
studies  for  the  piano.  Naturally  a  man  fond 
of  solving  abstruse  technical  problems,  he 
could  scarcely  let  pass  the  studies  of  other 
composers  without  considering  them  in  varied 
aspects.  So  he  has  taken  Chopin's  tender, 
4  49 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

whispering  study  in  F  minor  (op,  25),  and 
broken  it  on  the  wheel  of  double  sixths  and 
thirds.  It  may  be  magnificent  technic,  but, 
as  Rudyard  Kipling  would  ask:  Is  it  art? 
It  is  certainly  legitimate  experimenting,  but  I 
fancy  not  fit  for  publication.  A  flood  of 
imitations  have  resulted,  and  in  some  cases 
Chopin  has  suffered  exceedingly.  Happily 
the  extreme  difficulty  of  the  Brahms  transcrip- 
tions will  prevent  them  from  ever  becoming 
as  popular  as  much  of  Chopin.  They  are 
written  for  a  parterre  of  virtuosi. 

The  etude  after  Chopin  is  entertaining  for 
the  fingers,  and  of  more  educational  value 
than  Franz  Bendel's  treatment  of  sixths  in  his 
B  flat  minor  study,  the  etude  Heroique. 

But  what  shall  I  say  of  the  Weber  rondo, 
the  so-called  perpetual  movement,  topsy- 
turvied by  Brahms,  and  actually  played  by 
him  in  concert?  It  is  very  bewildering  and 
finally  laughable.  As  a  left  hand  study  in 
velocity  it  is  supreme.  He  has  subjected  a 
presto  by  Bach  to  two  rather  drastic  treat- 
ments, and  the  famous  chaconne  he  arranged 
for  the  left  hand  alone.  This  latter  has  one 
good  point,  it  can  be  played  easily  by  both 
hands,  and  the  immortal  piece  enjoyed,  for 
with  Bach,  Brahms  is  reverent  to  a  degree. 

The  fifty-one  studies  recently  jDublished  are 
50 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

little  gold  mines  for  the  student  of  Brahms. 
They  are  more  musical  than  Tausig's  daily 
studies  and  also  more  normal.  In  them  may 
be  found  all  the  norms  of  Brahms'  technical 
figuration,  the  mixed  rhythms,  the  curious 
extensions,  the  double  notes  in  thirds  and 
sixths,  with  all  manner  of  ingenious  fingering. 
Examine  the  fifth  study,  occupying  but  a 
page,  and  you  will  find  the  key  to  one  of  the 
most  formidable  difficulties  in  the  Paganini 
studies.  It  is  in  broken  octaves,  arranged  in 
scale  fashion  and  taken  at  a  rapid  tempo. 
Various  examples  will  be  found  of  this  figure. 
Then  there  are  single  finger  exercises,  skips, 
scales  and  interlocked  octav-es  and  chords. 
Both  books  are  of  the  highest  importance. 
Max  Vogrich  says  that  the  title  of  the 
studies  should  be  A  Hospital  for  Disabled 
Virtuosi. 

The  twenty-one  Hungarian  dances  were 
originally  arranged  for  the  piano  and  after- 
ward transferred  to  the  orchestra.  They  are 
so  familiar  in  their  orchestral  garb  that  I  need 
hardly  allude  to  them  except  to  say  that 
some  of  them  are  not  so  well  adapted  for  the 
piano.  But  there  are  a  half  dozen  that  will 
outlive  all  the  Liszt  rhapsodies,  for  Brahms 
has  penetrated  more  deeply  the  Hungarian 
spirit,  has  caught  color,  swing,  perfume,  mad 
51 


MEZZOTINTS    IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

melancholy  and  reckless  joy  without  a  sus- 
picion of  the  glittering  embroidery  of  Liszt's 
virtuoso-like  paraphrases.  These  dances  of 
Brahms  can  be  made  to  sound  superbly  if 
played  by  a  pianist  with  temperament,  above 
all  a  pianist  who  has  in  his  veins  Magyar 
blood. 

I  wish  I  had  been  in  Leipsic  in  January, 
1859,  among  the  big-wigs  of  music  and 
listened  to  the  first  performance  of  the  D 
minor,  the  first  piano  concerto,  played  by  its 
composer,  Johannes  Brahms.  The  Gewand- 
haus  must  have  been  disgusted  by  "  the  sym- 
phony with  piano  obbligato,"  as  the  critics 
called  it;  curiously  enough,  this  work  has 
set  the  pace  for  the  modern  concerto,  of 
which  Eugen  d'Albcrt's  two  works  in  B  minor 
and  E  major  are  extreme  examples. 

Yet  carefully  read  the  D  minor  concerto 
to-day,  and  much  of  its  so-called  obscurity 
vanishes.  When  I  first  heard  the  work  played 
by  Wilhelmine  Claus,  an  excellent  artist,  I 
confess  that,  fresh  from  "  Chopinism,"  this 
concerto  sounded  mournfully  vague  and  un- 
certain. Its  seriousness  was,  however,  not  its 
only  drawback  to  popularity.  "Where," 
asked  a  bewildered  public,  accustomed  to  the 
panderings  of"  pianism,"  "  where  are  our  trills, 
our  scales,  our  runs  all  over  the  landscape  of 
52 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

the  keyboard?  Give  us  our  cadenza,  our  big 
triumphal  entrance,  and  our  brilHant  finale, 
and  we  will  endure  a  few  bars  from  the  orches- 
tra; "  bars,  let  it  be  said,  that  about  suffice  to 
allow  the  solo  player  to  settle  in  his  seat, 
recover  his  wind  and  nerve  and  warm  his 
fingers. 

But  Brahms  thought  differently  from  the 
critic  and  public ;  to  him  a  piano  concerto 
was  the  sonata  form  amplified,  and  the  piano, 
unless  it  had  something  to  say,  must  hold  its 
tongue  between  its  burnished  ivory  teeth.  Do 
not,  however,  imagine  that  the  pianist  has  a 
few  doleful  chords  to  play.  There  are  diffi- 
culties enough,  and  of  a  trying  and  unusual 
order.  As  for  the  seriousness  of  the  work 
we  cannot  deny  that  it  is  dark  at  times, 
especially  in  the  orchestra,  and  full  of  the 
strenuous,  solid  sincerity  of  the  composer. 
I  cannot  help  thinking  here  of  what  Hadow 
wrote  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  find  Brahms 
too  grave  and  earnest :  — 

The  same  may  be  said  of  ^schylus  and  Dante, 
of  Milton,  of  Wordsworth.  .  .  .  Music  is  an  art  ol 
at  least  the  same  dignity  as  poetry  or  painting ;  it 
admits  of  similar  distinctions,  it  appeals  to  similar 
faculties,  and  in  it,  also,  the  highest  field  is  that 
occupied  with  the  most  serious  issues.  ...  If  we 
are  disposed  to  find  fault  with  Brahms  because  the 

53 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

greater  part  of  his  music  is  grave  and  earnest, 
let  us  at  least  endeavor  to  realize  how  such  a 
criticism  would  sound  if  it  were  directed  against 
the  Divina  Commedia,  or  the  Agamemnon,  or 
Paradise  Lost. 

For  Ehlert  the  D  minor  concerto  was  "  his 
first  crusade  into  the  promised  land  of  art." 
He  furthermore  finds  it  penetrating,  rugged 
and  unpleasant,  but  of"  undisguised  grandeur. 
...  Its  score  represents  the  act  of  divorce 
between  the  pianist  Brahms  and  the  universal 
composer." 

The  first  tutti  covers  all  but  five  pages  ;  but 
how  entrancingly  enters  the  opening  subject! 
I  find  it  simply  captivating  and  without  a  trace 
of  harshness.  Of  course  if  you  will  thump 
the  piano  like  some  pianists  who  believe  that 
both  Bach  and  Brahms  are  dry,  pedantic 
music-worms,  you  cannot  expect  any  re- 
sponse full  of  musical  and  intellectual  charm. 
And  let  me  say  now  that  half  the  harm  done 
to  Bach  and  Brahms  is  that  so  successfully 
accomplished  by  pianists  who  fail  to  discern 
the  exquisite  musical  quality  of  these  com- 
posers. Give  the  public  less  arithmetic  and 
more  emotional  and  tonal  variety,  and 
presently  you  may  find  Bach  and  Brahms 
ending  a  programme  instead  of  escorting  a 
reluctant  audience  to  its  seat. 
54 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

On  page  eleven  of  the  concerto  stands  the 
second  theme  of  the  first  movement  in  F. 
Show  me  anything  lovelier,  more  suave,  even 
in  Mozart,  and  I  will  be  surprised.  It  is 
the  earnest  and  strict  pol}'phonic  treatment 
throughout  and  not  any  paucity  of  melodic 
material  that  irritates  those  that  still  believe 
music  is  made,  like  bonbons,  to  tickle  the 
palate  and  soothe  digestion.  There  is  admira- 
ble logic  in  the  working  out  section  and  plenty 
of  finger,  wrist  and  arm  breaking  technic. 
The  last  two  pages  —  pages  thirty-two  and 
thirty-three  —  coming  as  they  do,  will  force 
any  strong  musical  man  to  exert  himself. 

The  second  movement,  an  adagio,  gives  us 
after  Brahms  the  thinker,  Brahms  the  poet. 
It  is  in  the  key  of  D  and  could  only  have 
been  conceived  by  a  man  of  the  highest 
musical  ideas  and  deep  feeling.  There  is  an 
episode  on  page  thirty-six  that  gives  the  lie 
to  the  critics  with  strabismic  hearing.  It  is  in 
melody  and  harmony,  simply  golden.  The 
rondo  is  in  strict  form,  full  of  classic  glee,  and 
very  effective,  even  in  the  old-fashioned  piano 
sense.  It  demands  enduring,  honest  fingers, 
and  much  breadth  of  style. 

Properly  speaking,  the  second  piano  con- 
certo in  B  flat,  op.  83,  belongs  to  my  so-called 
second  manner  of  the  composer.  In  it  there 
55 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

is  less  of  the  philosophic  brooding  of  the  first 
concerto.  It  is  more  passionate,  more  fluent, 
more  direct  and  more  dramatic.  It  shows  the 
same  unerring  grasp  of  construction ;  but 
there  is,  throughout,  more  of  the  musician  of 
the  world,  less  of  the  introspective  and  con- 
templative poet.  It  is  brilliant — especially 
the  passage  work — for  the  piano.  The  enun- 
ciation of  the  first  theme  by  the  horn  is 
memorable ;  beautiful,  too,  is  the  violoncello 
solo  in  the  slow  movement,  while  the  Hunga- 
rian finale  contains  some  of  the  most  charm- 
ing pages  written  for  piano  and  orchestra.  It 
is  dashing  and  piquant,  and  the  second  theme 
is  truly  Magyar. 

This  concerto  is  always  sure  to  be  more 
popular  than  the  first,  with  its  Faust-like  ques- 
tionings. Brahms  has  dared  to  be  worldly 
and  less  recondite  for  once. 


V 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  piece  de  resistance 
of  the  Brahms  piano  music  is  the  Paganini 
Variations ;  those  famous,  awesome,  o'er- 
toppling,  huge,  fantastic,  gargoylean  varia- 
tions erected,  planned  and  superimposed  by 
Brahms  upon  a  characteristic  theme  of 
Paganini. 

56 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

Brahms  and  Paganini !  Was  ever  so  strange 
a  couple  in  harness?  Cahban  and  Ariel,  Jove 
and  Puck.  The  stolid  German,  the  vibratile 
Italian  !  Yet  fantasy  wins,  even  if  brewed  in 
a  homely  Teutonic  kettle.  Brahms  has  taken 
the  little  motif —  a  true  fiddle  motif —  of 
Paganini,  and  tossed  it  ball-wise  in  the  air, 
and  while  it  spiral  spins  and  bathes  in  the 
blue,  he  cogitates,  and  his  thought  is  marvel- 
lously fine  spun.  Webs  of  gold  and  diamond 
spiders  and  the  great  round  sun  splashing 
about,  and  then  deep  divings  into  the  bowels 
of  the  firmament  and  growlings  and  subter- 
rene  rumblings,  and  all  the  while  the  poor 
maigre  Paganini,  a  mere  palimpsest  for  the 
terrible  old  man  of  Hamburg,  from  whose 
pipe  wreathed  musical  smoky  metaphysics, 
and  whose  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  Kantean 
categories. 

These  diabolical  variations,  the  last  word 
in  the  technical  literature  of  the  piano,  are 
also  vast  spiritual  problems.  To  play  them 
requires  fingers  of  steel,  a  heart  of  burning 
lava  and  the  courage  of  a  lion.  You  see, 
these  variations  are  an  obsession  with  me. 

Now  take  up  the  Chopin  Preludes,  and  the 

last,  a  separate  one,  op.  45,  in  the  key  of  C 

sharp   minor.     It   begins  with    an    idea    that 

Mendelssohn  employs  in  his    Song  Without 

57 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Words  in  A  minor,  "  Regret,"  I  think,  is  the 
fanciful  name  given  it  by  the  publishers ;  but 
play  until  you  come  to  the  thirteenth  bar, 
and,  behold,  you  are  landed  in  the  middle  of 
Brahms.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Brahms 
copied  Chopin,  but  the  mood  and  its  physi- 
cal presentation  are  identical  with  some  of 
the  music  of  the  later  Brahms,  the  Brahms  of 
the  second  period.  The  most  curious  part 
about  this  coincidence  is  that  the  ten  bars 
that  follow  do  not  sound  like  Chopin,  but 
Brahms  —  oh,  so  Brahmsian,  that  bitter-sweet 
lingering,  that  spiritual  reverie  in  which  the 
musical  idea  is  gently  propelled  as  if  in  some 
elusive  dream.  Then  there  are  the  extended 
chords,  the  shifting  harmonic  hues,  the  very 
bars  are  built  up  like  Brahms.  Of  course 
Brahms  would  have  been  Brahms  without 
Chopin ;  he  really  owes  the  Pole  less  than 
he  owes  Schumann,  nevertheless  here  we  are 
confronted  with  a  startling  similarity  of  theme 
and  treatment. 

I  fancied  that  Bach  anticipated  everyone 
in  modern  music,  but  Chopin  anticipating 
Brahms  is  almost  in  the  nature  of  a  delicate, 
ironical  jest;  yet  it  is  not  more  singular  than 
Beethoven  anticipating  Schumann  and  Chopin 
in  the  adagio  of  the  sonata,  op.  io6,  and  in 
the  arioso  dolente  of  the  sonata,  op.  IIO. 
58 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

There  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  said 
some  venerable  polyphonic  pundit,  in  ompha- 
lic contemplation  on  the  banks  of  the 
Ganges,  and  music  amply  illustrates  this  eld 
saying. 

But  to  op.  ']6,  Clavierstiicke  \^on  Johannes 
Brahms.  This  opus  is  divided  into  eight 
numbers,  capriccios  and  intermezzi ;  for  the 
composer  disliked  excessively  giving  his 
music  set  names,  although  it  seems  to  me 
that  with  his  intense  Teutonism  he  might  have 
followed  Schumann's  example  and  avoided 
the  Italian  nomenclature  as  much  as  possible. 

Then  again  these  little  pieces  are  not  al- 
ways well  named,  for  the  rhapsodies  are 
seldom  rhapsodies  in  the  conventional  sense, 
and  the  intermezzi  are,  I  suppose,  intended 
to  fill  in,  as  the  name  indicates,  some  inter- 
mediate place ;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  they 
do  not,  for  they  are  often  bunched  together. 
It  is  to  be  supposed  that  Brahms  attached 
some  intellectual  significance  to  these  titles 
that  is  caviare  to  the  general. 

The  first  capriccio  of  op.  'j6  is  in  the  key 
of  F  sharp  minor,  the  brief,  restless  intro- 
ductory suggesting,  but  rather  faintly,  Schu- 
mann. The  principal  melody  is  structurally 
in  the  style  of  Mendelssohn,  but  the  har- 
monization and  development  of  a  sort  that 
59 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   ^MODERN   MUSIC 

would  have  repelled  the  gentle  Felix,  who 
disliked  anything  bristling  or  forbidding. 
The  mood-color  is  gloomy,  even  to  despair. 
There  is  a  ray  of  light  in  the  diminished 
chord  that  preludes  the  return  of  the  theme, 

!  which  is  treated  in  inversion  —  a  charac- 
teristic trick  of  Brahms.  Near  the  close 
the    melody    is    sounded     in    quarter-noted 

i  chords  and  most  resolutely,  but  soon  melts 
away  into  vaporous  figuration,  the  piece 
ending  in  the  major,  but  without  a  ray  of 
sunshine. 

The  second  capriccio  is  the  familiar  one  in 
B  minor,  played  staccato  throughout,  and  a 
piquant  and  almost  agreeable  piano  composi- 
tion. Do  you  know  that  I  never  hear  it 
without  being  reminded  of  the  fourth  number 
in  Schumann's  Die  Davidsbiindler,  which  is 
also  in  B  minor.  It  is  as  if  Brahms  took  that 
syncopated  page  and  built  over  it  his  capric- 
cio, with  its  capricious  staccati  and  ingenious 
harmonic  changes.  Of  course  the  resem- 
blance vanishes  after  the  third  bar ;  it  is  really 
more  spiritual  than  actual. 

Interesting  it  is  to  follow  the  permutations^ 
of  the  composer.  On  page  nine  there  is  a 
refreshing  and  perfectly  sane  modulation  from 
E  major  to  F,  and  the  return  to  the  subject  is 
cleverly  managed.  The  frisky  yet  somewhat 
60 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

saturnine  character  is  maintained  to  the  end, 
and  the  doubhng  up  on  page  tweh^e  is  very 
eftective.  A  genuine  piano  piece  is  this  B 
minor  capriccio. 

We  now  come  to  the  lov^ely  A  flat  inter- 
mezzo, which  occasionally  strays  in  an  uneasy 
fashion  on  the  concert  stage.  A  few  pianists 
play  this  tender  wreath  of  moonbeams  and 
love,  but  either  too  slow  or  too  fast-  To  play 
Brahms  sentimentaljvjs  to  slayJBrahms ;  yet 
this  charming  inFermezzo  in  A  flat  must  not 
be  taken  too  slow.  It  exhales  an  odor  of 
purity,  of  peace,  that  is  not  quite  untroubled, 
and  nothing  sweeter  can  be  imagined  than 
the  dolce  on  the  first  page  that  follows  a 
ritenuto  and  introduces  a  break  in  the  melody. 
Its  two  pages  are  the  two  pages  of  a  master- 
piece. They  give  us  Brahms  at  his  best  and 
in  his  most  lovable  mood. 

The  next  intermezzo  is  more  shy  and  more 
diffident.  Marked  allegretto  grazioso,  its 
graciousness  is  veiled  by  a  hesitating  reserve 
which  further  on  becomes  almost  painful. 
Mark  where  the  double  notes  begin,  mark  the 
progression  and  its  dark  downward  inflection. 
But  it  is  a  beautiful  bit  of  writing,  with  some 
of  the  characteristics  of  a  nocturne,  but  full  of 
questionings,  full  of  enigmatic  pain.  Brahms, 
too,  suff"ered  severely  from  Weltschmerz. 
6i 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

The  second  book  of  op.  ']6  is  a  distinct 
advance  in  mastery  of  material,  in  the  expres- 
sion and  reahzation  of  moods  ahiiost  too 
recondite  and  remote.  The  C  sharp  minor 
capriccio  which  begins  the  book  is  more 
lengthy  and  more  ambitious  than  any  in  the 
work.  It  is  an  agitated,  passionate  composi- 
tion, driving  through  darkness  and  storm 
without  relief,  until  a  silent  poco  tranquillo  is 
reached ;  but  the  point  of  repose  is  soon 
abandoned  and  the  turmoil  begins  anew  and 
the  ending  is  full  of  gloom  and  fierceness.  I 
catch  Schumann  in  spots ;  for  example,  near 
the  end  of  the  second  line  on  the  second 
page,  when  a  rank  modulation  stares  you  in  the 
face,  but  with  the  eyes  of  Robert  the  Fantastic. 
The  tempest-like  character  of  the  capriccio  is 
marked.  It  is  a  true  soul-storm  in  which  the 
spirit,  buffeted  and  drenched  by  the  wind  and 
wave  of  adversity,  is  almost  subdued  ;  but  the 
harsh  and  haughty  coda  shows  indomitable 
courage  at  the  last.  It  is  a  powerful  com- 
panion picture  for  Schumann's  Aufschwung. 

Then  follow  in  the  next  intermezzo  perfect 
calm,  perfect  repose  of  mind  and  body.  In 
the  slow  moving  triplets  Brahms  indicates 
those  curves  of  quiet  that  enfold  us  when 
we  are  at  one  with  ourselves,  with  nature. 
Indescribably  lovely  is  the  first  page  of  this 
62 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

intermezzo.  Even  the  section  in  F  sharp 
minor  is  gracious  and  without  a  hint  of  the 
tragic.     Tlie  piece  ends  in  A  major  stillness. 

The  next  number  is  also  an  intermezzo,  and 
with  my  absurd  feeling  for  similarities  I  hear 
in  it  an  echo  of  Chopin's  F  minor  nocturne. 
The  resemblance  is  not  as  rhythmic  as  it  is 
melodic.  For  gray  days  this  intermezzo  was 
written ;  go  play  it  when  the  sun  is  holding 
high  and  heated  revelry  in  the  heavens  and 
you  will  feel,  rather  than  see,  a  shadow  cross 
your  inner  vision.  It  is  our  pessimistic 
Brahms  again,  and  the  mood  for  the  moment 
is  almost  one  of  mild  self-torture.  A  nocturne 
in  gray,  not  too  profound,  too  poignant, 
rather  a  note  of  melancholy  is  sounded,  a 
thin  edge  of  light  that  stipples  the  gloom  with 
really  more  doubt  than  despair. 

The  eighth  and  last  number  of  the  opus  is 
a  capriccio,  a  genuine,  whirling,  fantastic 
capriccio.  It  is  not  easy  to  play;  needing 
light,  sure  fingers  and  a  light,  gay  spirit. 
In  the  second  section  we  encounter  a  melody 
of  the  later  Brahms  type.  It  delights  in 
seizing  remote  keys,  or  rather  contiguous 
keys,  that  are  widely  disparate  in  relation- 
ship and  forcing  them  to  consort,  the  result 
being  perversely  novel  and  sometimes  start- 
ling. Some  of  the  modulatory  work  is  very 
63 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

interesting,  particularly  the  enharmonic  pro- 
gressions at  the  bottom  of  the  second  page. 
The  capriccio  fitly  closes  a  volume  of  original 
and  suggestive  piano  music,  but  music  that  is 
sealed  to  the  amateur  searching  for  showy  or 
mere  mellifluous  effects.  After  you  have 
played  Bach  and  Beethoven,  after  you  have 
exhausted  —  if  such  a  thing  is  possible  — 
Chopin  and  Schumann^  you  will  perhaps 
grasp  the  involuted  and  poetical  music  con- 
tained in  op.  ^^6  of  Brahms. 

At  last  we  reach  op.  79,  the  two  rhapsodies 
much  talked  of,  much  wrangled  over  and  sel- 
dom played. 

The  first  rhapsody  is  in  B  minor  and  is  as 
unrhapsodic  as  you  can  well  imagine.  It  is 
drastic,  knotty,  full  of  insoluble  ideas,  the 
melodic  contour  far  from  melting  and  indeed 
hardly  plastic.  The  mood  is  sternly  Dorian 
and  darkling.  It  is  the  intellectual  Brahms 
who  confronts  us  with  his  supreme  disdain 
for  what  we  like  or  dislike ;  it  is  Brahms 
giving  utterance  to  bitter  truths,  and  only 
when  he  reaches  the  section  in  D  minor 
does  he  relax  and  sing  in  smoother  accents; 
but  those  common  chords  in  B  flat  ruthlessly 
interrupt  the  Norse-like  melody,  and  we  are 
once  again  launched  on  the  sea  of  troubled 
argument.  This  B  minor  rhapsody  always 
64 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

sounds  to  me  as  if  its  composer  were  trying 
to  prove  something  algebraic,  all  the  while 
knitting  his  awful  brows  in  the  most  logical 
manner.  There  is  little  rhapsody  in  it,  but 
of  intellectual  acrimoniousness  muc-h.  The 
second  melody  has  an  astringency  that  is 
very  grateful  to  mental  palates  weary  of 
the  sweets  of  other  composers. 

This  melody  in  B  is  another  typical  one  of 
the  sort  referred  to  above.  You  could  swear 
it  is  Brahms,  even  if  heird  in  a  dark  room 
with  your  ears  closed  —  to  be  very  Irish ! 
The  merging  of  this  theme  into  the  first  is 
characteristically  accomplished,  and  the  old 
dispute  is  renewed.  As  acrid  as  decaying 
bronze  is  this  rhapsody,  and  yet  its  content 
is  intellectual  and  lofty,  the  subsidiary  melody 
in  D  minor  being  the  one  bit  of  relief  through- 
out. There  are  scales  in  the  piece,  but  surely 
not  for  display,  and  the  regularly  constructed 
coda  is  very  interesting.  This  first  rhapsody 
is  for  the  head  rather  than  the  heart. 

But  the  second  in  G  minor  is  magnificent; 
more  ballade-like  than  rhapsodic,  yet  a  dis- 
tinct narrativeland-- one  about  which  I  love  to 
drape  all  mariner  of  subjective  imaginings. 
The  bold  modulation  of  the  theme,  its  swift- 
ness, fervor  and  power  are  very  fascinating. 
I  love  to  think  of  my  favorite.  Browning's 
5  65 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Childe    Roland    to   the    Dark  Tower    Came. 
With  what  mastery  and  economy  of  means 
are  not  the  most  dramatic  effects  compassed ! 
Begin  with  the  chord  in  E  minor  so  rapidly 
translated  into  G  minor,  and  thence   onward. 
You    can    fairly    revel    in    the    exhibition    of 
tragic  force,  in  the  free,  firm,  bold  handling 
of  a  subject  stripped  of  all  musical  verbiage 
and  reduced  to  its  lowest  mathematical  term. 
O^The  working  out  is   famous  in  its    intensity, 
>  '  in    its    grip ;    never    for    a    moment    is    the 
^  Hheme  lost,  never  for  a  moment  is  subsidiary 
material    introduced.     There    is  no  padding, 
and  the  great,  gaunt  skeleton  of  the  structure 
would  be  exposed  if  it  were  not  for  the  rush, 
the  color,  the  dynamic  density  of  the  mass. 
A  wonderful,    glorious,   bracing  tone-picture 
in  which  Brahms,  the  philosopher,  burns  the 
boats    of  his    old    age    and  becomes  for  the 
time  a  youthful  Faust  in  search  of  a  sensation. 
A  hurricane  of  emotion  that  is  barely  stilled 
at  the  end,  this  rhapsody  reminds  me  of  the 
bardic  recital  of  some  old  border  ballad.     In 
it    there    is  tragedy  and   the  cry  of  bruised 
hearts ;    in  it  there  is  fierce  action,  suffocat- 
ing passion  and  a  letting  loose    of  the   ele- 
ments   of   the    soul.     It   is    an  epic    for  the 
keyboard,    and    before    its    cryptic    tones  we 
shudder  and  are  amazed ! 
66 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 


VI 

Op.  ii6  is  made  up  of  two  books  of  small 
pieces  called  Fantaisien  and  divided  into 
capriccios  and  intermezzi,  seven  in  all.  A 
bold,  restless  capriccio,  a  presto  in  D  minor, 
begins  the  set.  Here  is  the  later  Brahms  with 
a  vengeance.  Cross  accents,  harmonic  cross- 
relations,  and  what  Hadow  calls  organic  unity 
in  the  emotional  aspect  with  organic  diversity 
in  the  choice  of  keys.  Very  daring,  very 
difficult  is  this  energetic  composition.  In  the 
seventeenth  bar  we  find  the  Hungarian  creep- 
ing in,  in  the  characteristic  Brahms  style,  but 
it  only  peeps  at  you  for  a  few  bars  and  is  lost 
in  the  hurly-burly  of  mixed  rhj'thms  and 
tonalities.  The  entire  character  of  the  piece 
is  resolute,  vigorous  and  powerful.  It  is  finely 
developed  both  in  the  emotional  and  intellec- 
tual aspects. 

The  intermezzo  in  A  minor  which  follows 
is  lovely.  In  its  native  simplicity  it  is  almost 
as  noteworthy  as  the  introduction  to  the 
Chopin  Ballade  in  F  major-A  minor.  Its 
sweet  melancholy  has  the  resigned  quality 
that  Maeterlinck  speaks  of  when  describing 
an  old  man  who  sits  serenely  in  his  chair  and 
listens  to  the  spiritual  messages  in  the  air; 
67 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

sits  humbly,  peacefully,  with  sweetly  folded 
hands,  and  awaits — awaits  what?  The  tran- 
quillity of  this  nocturne  is  unbroken  even  in 
the  second  part,  where  a  whispering  figure  in 
the  treble  enlaces  the  theme.  It  is  another 
of  those  vaporish  mysteries,  those  shadowy 
forms  seen  at  dusk  near  the  gray,  thin  edges 
of  forests.  Whether  from  caprice  or  logic 
Brahms  makes  a  chromatic  detour  of  an 
entire  line  before  the  coda.  It  is  as  interest- 
ing as  it  is  unusual.  This  intermezzo  is  for 
pure,  pious  souls,  and  it  is  not  very  young 
music.  It  contains  an  unusual  sequence  of 
chords  of  the  seventh  in  two  parts,  the  fifths 
being  omitted. 

Of  different  calibre  is  the  capriccio  in  G 
minor.  No.  3  of  the  set.  Passionate,  agitated 
and  intensely  moving  is  the  first  theme,  and 
the  second  in  E  flat  major  recalls  to  Mr. 
FuUer-Maitland  the  style  of  the  early  piano 
sonatas.  But  there  is  freer  modulation  and 
more  economy  of  material.  Brahms  was  not 
a  young  man  when  he  wrote  this  opus,  yet 
for  the  most  part  it  is  astonishingly  youthful 
and  elastic.  There  is  fire  and  caprice  in  this 
composition  that  make  it  extremely  effective 
for  the  concert  stage. 

More   remote,  but   exquisitely  tender    and 
intimate,  is  the  intermezzo  which  begins   the 
68 


THE    MUSIC    OF   THE   FUTURE 

second  book  of  op.  ii6.  It  is  m}-  favorite 
number,  and  its  caressing  accents  set  you 
dreaming.  In  the  entire  range  of  piano  litera- 
ture I  cannot  recall  a  more  individual  and 
more  beautiful  piece  of  music,  and  I  am  fully 
conscious  that  I  am  writing  these  words  and 
all  they  implicate. 

Solemnly  the  triolen  are  sung  in  the  bass, 
but  the  treble  phrase  that  follows  is  purely 
feminine  and  questioning.  So  slender  are  the 
outlines  of  this  piece  that  they  seem  to  wave 
and  weave  in  the  air.  The  pianissimi  are 
almost  too  spiritual  to  translate  into  tone  ;  and 
yet  throughout,  despite  the  stillness  of  the 
music,  its  rich  quiet,  there  is  no  hint  of  the 
sensuous.  The  luxuriance  of  color  is  purely 
of  the  spirit  —  the  spirit  that  broods  over  the 
mystery  and  beauty  of  life.  Brahms'  music 
is  never  sexless ;  but  at  times  he  seems  to 
withdraw  from  the  dust,  the  flesh-pots  and  the 
noise  of  life,  and  erects  in  his  heart  a  temple 
wherein  may  be  worshipped  Beauty. 

Of  ineffable,  haunting  beauty  is  this  inter- 
mezzo ;  and  it  is  worth  a  wilderness  of  some 
sonatas  and  loudly  trumpeted  rhapsodies  by 
men  acclaimed  of  great  reputation.  The  end- 
ing is  benign. 

The    next    intermezzo,    in   E    minor,    is,    I 
confess,  gnomic  for  me.     It  is  marked  andante 
69 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

con  grazia  ed  intimissimo  sentimento.  It 
is  in  six-eight  time,  and  built  on  phrases 
of  two  notes.  Intimate,  yes,  but  the  inti- 
macy is  all  on  the  side  of  the  composer, 
for  you  must  long  pursue  this  cryptic  bit 
of  writing  before  you  begin  to  unravel  its 
complicated  meanings.  The  composition  is 
extremely  original,  extremely  poetic;  more 
like  a  sigh,  a  half-uttered  complaint  of  a  mel- 
ancholy soul.  To  play  it  you  must  first  be 
a  poet,  then  a  pianist. 

The  next  intermezzo  is  really  a  minuet.  It 
is  in  E,  and  finely  differentiated  from  its  com- 
panions of  the  volume. 

A  capriccio,  also  in  D  minor,  closes  this 
work.  It  is  quite  brilliant,  and,  oddly  enough, 
contains  a  full-fledged  bravoura  passage,  in 
the  nature  of  a  cadenza,  and  after  the  most 
approved  modern  manner.  It,  too,  would  be 
extremely  effective  in  concert. 

Op.  117,  three  intermezzi,  leads  off  with  a 
delicious  cradle  song,  which  I  cannot  quite 
agree  with  Max  Vogrich,  as  being  fit  to  lull 
to  slumber  a  royal  babe.  Indeed,  the  child 
rocked  to  sleep  by  Brahms  is  not  so  aristo- 
cratic nor  so  delicate  as  the  infant  of  the 
Chopin  Berceuse  but  it  is  just  as  precious, 
even  if  homelier.  The  character  of  the  music 
is  confessedly  Scottish,  and  has  for  a  motto 
70 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

Herder's  "  Schlaf  sanft,  mein  kind,  schlaf  sanft 
und  schon !  "  The  harmonies  are  thick, 
crowded,  and  the  melody  charmingly  naive 
and  childlike.  One  might  reasonably  expect 
from  Brahms  the  vision  of  some  intellectual 
looking  baby,  its  skull  covered' with  metaphysi- 
cal bumps  and  from  its  mouth  issuing  sounds  of 
senile  wisdom.  But  this  is  not  the  case,  for 
it  is  a  real  lullaby  we  listen  to,  even  if  the 
second  section  is  darker  than  one  expects. 
The  return  of  the  subject  with  the  octave  in 
the  upper  voice  is  well  managed,  and  the 
composition  ends  in  cooing  repose. 

An  intermezzo  in  B  flat  minor  follows,  and 
after  playing  and  digesting  it  let  me  hear  no 
more  complaints  about  Brahms'  style  being 
"  unpianistic."  This  number  has  been  called 
Schumannish,  but  the  comparison  is  a  surface 
one.  Its  pages  are  truly  Brahms,  and  very 
difficult  it  is  to  play  in  its  insolent,  airy  ease. 

The  last  intermezzo  of  the  book  in  C  sharp 
minor  is  of  sterner  stuff.  FuUer-Maitland 
finds  in  it  a  suggestion  of  the  finale  of 
Brahms'  third  symphony.  For  me  it  is  most 
exotic,  and  has  a  flavor  of  the  Asiatic  in  its 
naked,  monophonic,  ballad-like  measures. 
There  is  an  evident  narrative  of  sorrowful 
mien,  and  you  encounter  a  curious  refrain  in 
A,  as  if  one  expostulated  at  the  closing  of 
71 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

some  gruesome  statement.  Of  weighty  im- 
port is  this  piece,  and  in  it  there  is  smothered 
irony  and  sHghtly  veiled  suffering,  and  in  it 
there  stalks  an  apparition  of  woe,  of  ennui. 
Page  fourteen  shows  the  hand  of  a  master. 

There  are  some  who  find  this  op.  117  a  dis- 
tinct gain  over  the  previous  work.  I  cannot 
truthfully  say  that  I  appreciate  this  criticism, 
for  both  volumes  contain  gems  of  the  purest. 
Temperament  has  naturally  its  own  prefer- 
ences. I  have  broadly  indicated  my  favorite 
numbers,  and  perhaps  next  year  may  discover 
new  beauties  in  the  compositions  that  now 
fail  to  make  a  strong  personal  appeal.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  no  number  should  be  slighted. 

We  now  near  the  end,  for  only  op.  1 18  and 
op.  119  remain  to  be  considered.  The  first 
intermezzo  in  A  minor  of  the  former  opus 
starts  off  in  an  exultant  mood  —  a  mood  of 
joyful  anticipation.  In  it  you  are  glad  to  be 
alive,  to  breathe  the  tonic  air,  to  be  smothered 
in  the  sunshine.  Tell  me  not  in  doleful  num- 
bers that  Johannes  Brahms  cannot  be  optimis- 
tic, cannot  hitch  his  wagon  to  a  star,  cannot 
fight  fate.  There  is  passionate  intensity  and 
swift  motion  in  this  intermezzo.  While  play- 
ing it  you  are  billowed  up  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  power  and  nobility  of  soul.  The 
tonality  is  most  diverting  and  varied. 
72 


TPIE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

The  succeeding  intermezzo  is  in  F  miner,  ^ 
and  is  andante.  A  very  graciously  pretty 
piano  piece.it  is,  and  well  within  the  grasp  of 
a  moderate  technic.  The  melodic  material  is 
copious  and  rich,  and  the  harmonies  very 
grateful.  For  example,  play  the  F  sharp 
section  and  the  following  measures  after  the 
double  bar  in  F  sharp  major;  how  genial, 
what  resource  in  modulatory  tactics,  what 
appreciation  of  diversity  in  treatment ! 

A  stirring  and  royal  ballade  in  G  minor 
follows.  It  is  Brahms  of  the  masculine  gen- 
der, the  warlike,  impetuous  recounter  of 
brave  deeds  and  harsh  contest.  Although  the 
key  coloring  is  gloomy,  there  is  too  much 
action,  spirit  and  bravery  in  the  ballade  for 
gloom  to  perch  long  on  the  banners  of  the 
composer.  A  wonderful  second  subject  in  B 
interrupts  the  rush  of  the  battle,  which  is  soon 
resumed.     Even  its  pauses  are  brilliant. 

The  fourth  intermezzo  in  A  flat  has  quite  a 
savor  of  the  rococo,  with  its  gentle  theme 
and  response.  Something  of  the  Old  World 
hovers  in  its  rustling  bars,  the  workmanship 
of  which  is  very  ingenious,  especially  in  the 
management  of  the  basses  in  the  second  part. 
There  is  a  tiny  current  of  agitation  in  this 
intermezzo,  despite  its  delicacy  of  contour, 
its  lightness  of  treatment. 
73 


1 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

No.  5  is  a  romance  suffused  with  idyllic 
feeling.  There  is  atmosphere  and  there  is 
the  heart  quality,  a  quality  lacking  in  most 
modern  composers.  A  very  grateful  com- 
position, simple  and  serene,  is  this  romance. 

E  flat  minor  is  the  key  of  the  last  inter- 
mezzo of  op.  1 1 8,  and  a  trying  composition 
it  is,  requiring  nimble  fingers,  fleet  fingers 
and  a  light,  strong  wrist.  The  idea  reminds 
me  of  one  of  Brahms'  earlier  pieces,  a  mere 
kernel  of  a  figure,  which  is  expanded,  ampli- 
fied, broadened,  deepened  by  the  composer 
at  will.  It  is  full  of  fantastic  poetry,  and 
there  is  sweep  and  vision  in  the  composition, 
which  has  a  ring  of  dolour  and  is  full  of  the 
sombreness  of  a  sad,  strong  soul. 

Op.  119  ends  the  Brahms  music  for  the 
piano.  The  daily  studies  were  doubtlessly 
written  before.  But  the  four  pieces  that  com- 
prise op.  119  may  be  said  to  be  practically 
the  last  music  for  the  instrument  he  loved  so 
faithfully.  There  is  no  falling  off  in  inspira- 
tion or  workmanship.  The  idea  and  its  ex- 
pression are  woven  in  one  strand ;  there  is 
much  polishing  of  phrase  and  no  lack  of 
robustness. 

The  opening  number  is  in  B  minor,  an 
intermezzo,  an  adagio,  and  full  of  reverent, 
sedate  music.  Since  Beethoven  no  one  can 
74 


THE   MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

vie  with  Brahms  in  writing  a  slow,  sober 
movement;  one  in  which  the  man,  moral, 
intellectual  and  physical,  girds  up  his  loins, 
conserves  his  forces  and  says  his  greatest  and 
noblest.  The  sustained  gravity,  the  profound 
feeling  never  mellows  into  the  pathetic  fallacy, 
and  of  the  academic  there  is  not  a  trace. 
This  adagio  is  deeply  moving. 

The  next  intermezzo  in  E  minor  is  of  ex- 
treme loveliness  ;  its  poco  agitato  is  the  rust- 
ling of  the  leaves  in  the  warm  west  wind,  but 
they  are  flecked  by  the  sunshine.  A  tremu- 
lous sensibility  informs  this  andantino,  and 
its  bars  are  stamped  by  genius. 

Fancy  the  gayest,  blithest  intermezzo, 
marked  "joyfully"  and  you  will  hear  the  en- 
chanting one  in  C.  The  theme  is  in  the 
middle  voice,  and  the  elasticity,  sweetness 
and  freedom  throughout  are  simply  delightful. 
It  is  three  pages  of  undefiled  happiness,  and 
only  to  be  compared  to  that  wonderful  rhyth- 
mic study  in  A  flat  by  Chopin,  the  supple- 
mentary study  in  the  Fetis  method.  But 
Chopin  is  so  sad  and  Brahms  so  merry,  yet 
the  general  architectonic  is  not  dissimilar. 

A  very  Schumannish   and   vigorous   rhap- 
sodic in  E  flat  closes  the  set,  and  is  in  all 
probability  the   last  piano   piece   penned   by 
the  composer.      In   it  Brahms  returns  to  an 
75 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

early  love,  Schumann,  and  there  are  echoes 
of  the  march  of  the  Davidsbtindler  in  the 
beginning;  no  one  but  Brahms  could  have 
written  the  section  in  C  minor  or  A  flat. 
This  rhapsodic  is  for  me  not  as  interesting 
as  the  one  in  G  minor,  but  it  is  brilliant,  and 
requires  wrists  of  steel. 

One  who  is  better  qualified  to  speak  on  the 
subject  than  myself,  Mr.  Max  Vogrich,  made 
the  following  suggestions  as  to  the  order  in 
which  these  pieces  may  be  played  in  concert. 
He  writes :  — 

As  the  pianist  cannot  possibly  play  all  twenty 
pieces  in  one  concert,  he  must  perforce  undertake 
the  painful  task  of  selection.  Every  concert  player 
knows  that  he  can  never  win  over  his  audience  to 
sympathy,  unless  himself  in  fullest  sympathy  with 
the  compositions  which  he  performs.  If  e  will  there- 
fore play  op.  ii6  through,  and  find  in  the  very  first 
number  (Capriccio)  an  exquisite  and  highly  effec- 
tive piece,  teeming  with  trying  octave  passages.  If 
he  will,  he  can  sufficiently  exhibit  his  technic  — 
and  his  muscular  fortitude  —  in  this  number.  No.  2 
(Intermezzo)  and  No.  3  (Capriccio)  will  strike  him 
as  less  effective.  But  in  No.  4  (Intermezzo)  he 
will  discover  a  gem  of  the  first  water,  an  adagio 
enchanting  in  its  wondrous  sonority  —  a  study  in 
tone.  The  two  next  following  intermezzi,  again, 
will  afford  less  complete  gratification  by  reason  of 
76 


THE    MUSIC   OF   THE   FUTURE 

their  overcharged  seriousness,  also  the  Capriccio, 
conceived  somewhat  in  the  apirit  of  a  study,  and 
forming  the  close  of  op.  ii6.  Quickly  taking  up 
op.  117  (Three  Intermezzi),  the  player  opens  it  at 
No.  I,  a  slumber  song,  but  one  excelling,  in  depth 
of  feeling,  delicacy  and  absorbedness  of  mood, 
anything  ever  produced  in  this  class  of  poetry, 
Schumann's  Traumerei  excepted.  It  was  penned 
by  a  king,  and  only  a  king  should  play  it  to  lull  to 
slumber  a  royal  babe. 

Would  anyone  be  moved  to  tears  by  pure 
music,  let  him  listen  to  the  two  succeeding  inter- 
mezzi, especially  the  last,  which  is  fitted  to  bring 
sentimental  souls  to  the  verge  of  despair.  Brahms 
must  have  experienced  much  evil  in  his  life ! 
Finally,  our  growingly  enthusiastic  pianist  reaches 
op.  118  and  op.  119.  And  now  he  cannot  tear 
himself  away  from  the  piano.  No  further  thought 
of  concert  or  audience  disturbs  him  now ;  nor  can 
he  devote  a  thought  to  careful  selection. 

He  further  remarks  that : 

Since  the  days  of  the  Fantasiestucke  the  Kin- 
derscenen,  the  Kreisleriana  and  the  Novelletten, 
that  is,  since  more  than  half  a  century,  the  entire 
range  of  piano  literature  has  had  nothing  to  show 
which  could  be  even  remotely  compared  in  intel- 
lectual import  with  these  twenty  pieces  by  Brahms. 

Brahms  has  the  individual  v^oice,  and  in  his 
piano    music   his    almost   Spartan    simplicity 
77 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

sometimes  unmasks  the  illusory  quality  of  the 
instrument.  Yet,  I  protest  if  you  tell  me  that 
he  does  not  write  Klaviermiissig.  His  tech- 
nics are  peculiar,  but  they  make  the  piano 
sound  beautiful;  an  eloquent  tone  is  needed 
for  Brahms,  and  your  ten  fingers  must  be  as 
ten  flexible  voices.  He  never  writes  salon 
music,  with  its  weak,  vapid,  affected  mien. 
You  needs  must  play  much  Chopin  and  Liszt, 
for  too  much  Brahms  makes  the  fingers  slug- 
gish, that  is  sluggish  for  the  older  and  more 
rapid-fingered  composers. 

Touching  on  the  content  of  his  piano 
music  we  find  much  variety.  He  has  felt  the 
pessimism  of  his  times,  but  his  ideals  were 
noble,  and  no  man  could  prefer  Fielding  as 
an  author  and  not  be  robust  in  temperament. 
He  is  often  enigmatic  and  hard  to  decipher. 
Often  and  purposely  he  seems  to  encage  him- 
self in  a  hedge  of  formidable  quickset,  but 
once  penetrate  it  and  you  find  blooming 
the  rarest  flowers,  whose  perfume  is  delicious. 
To  me  this  is  the  eternal  puzzle ;  that  Brahms, 
the  master  of  ponderous  learning,  can  yet  be 
so  tender,  so  innocent  of  soul,  so  fragile,  so 
childlike.  He  must  have  valiantly  protected 
his  soul  against  earthly  smudging  to  keep  it 
so  pure,  so  sweet  to  the  very  end.  I  know 
little  of  his  life,  except  that  he  was  modest  to 
78 


THE   MUSIC   OF  THE   FUTURE 

gruffness,  that  he  loved  beer,  the  society  of 
women  and  good  cooking.  Very  material  all 
these,  but  the  man  was  nevertheless  a  great 
poet  and  a  great  musical  thinker. 

His  piano  music  is  gay,  is  marmoreal  in  its 
repose,  is  passionate,  is  humorous,  is  jolly,  is 
sad,  is  depressing,  is  morbid,  recondite,  poetic, 
fantastic  and  severe.  He  pours  into  the  elas- 
tic form  of  the  sonata  hot  romantic  passion, 
and  in  the  loosest  textured  smaller  pieces  he 
can  be  as  immovable  as  bronze,  as  plastic  as 
clay.  He  is  sometimes  frozen  by  grief  and 
submerged  by  thought,  but  he  is  ever  fasci- 
nating, for  he  has  something  to  say  and 
knows  how  to  say  it  in  an  individual  way. 
Above  all  he  is  profoundly  Jiuinan  and  touches 
humanity  at  many  contacts. 

Let  me  conclude  by  quoting  from  that  just 
critic  of  Brahms,  Louis  Ehlert:  "It  is  char- 
acteristic of  his  nature  that  he  was  born  in  a 
Northern  seaport,  and  that  his  father  was  a 
contrabassist.  Sea  air  and  basses,  these  are 
the  ground  elements  of  his  music.  Nowhere 
is  there  to  be  found  a  Southern  luxuriance, 
amid  which  golden  fr-r'ts  smile  upon  every 
bough,  nor  that  superabundance  of  blissful 
exuberance  that  spreads  its  fragrant  breath 
over  hill  and  dale.  Now  here,  however,  on 
the  other  hand,  may  there  be  met  that 
79 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

enervating  self-absorption,  renunciation  of 
effort  oi"  Southern  brooding  submission  to 
fate.  .  .  .  He  neither  dazzles  nor  docs  he 
conquer  with  an  assault.  Slowly  but  surely 
he  wins  all  those  hearts  that  demand  from 
art  not  only  that  it  shall  excite,  but  also 
that  it  be  filled  with  sacred  fire  and  endowed 
with  the  lovely  proportions  of  the  beautiful." 
Brahms  is  indeed  an  artist  of  the  beautiful 
and  nowhere  is  this  better  exemplified  than 
in  his  piano  music. 


Od 


11 

A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

By  the  side  of  the  P31ue  Sea  is  a  great  and  green  oak  tree 

girt  with  a  golden  chain. 
Day  and  night  a  marvellous  and  learned  cat  crawls  around 

this  oak. 
When  he  crawls  to  the  right  he  sings  a  song; 
When  he  crawls  to  the  left  he  tells  a  story. 
It  is  there  you  must  sit  down  and  learn  the  understanding 

of  Russian  legends.  .  .  . 
There  the  spirit  of  Russia  and  the  fantasy  of  our  ancestors 

come  to  life  again. 

Philip  Hale,  after  Pushkin. 


There  you  have  Russia :  when  the  Russian 
is  not  singing  songs,  saturated  with  vodka  or 
melancholy,  he  is  spinning  stories  shot  through 
with  the  fantastic,  or  grin\  with  the  pain  and 
noise  of  life.  In  the  European  Concert  his 
formidable  bass  tones  make  his  neighbor's 
voice  sound  thin' and  piping.  Napoleon  proph- 
esied that  before  the  end  of  the  century 
Europe  would  be  either  Republican  or  Cos- 
sack, and  only  a  few  years  ago  the  Moscow 
6  iii 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

Gazette  exultantly  proclaimed  that  the  "  twen- 
tieth century  belongs  to  us."  By  no  means 
an  anti-Slavophile  in  music,  Henry  Edward 
Krehbiel,  as  far  back  as  1885,  uttered  his 
warning,  "  'Ware  the  Muscovite  !  " 

On  the  doorsill  of  the  new  century  this  old- 
young  nation,  if  not  master,  is  almost  a  deter- 
mining factor  in  politics,  art  and  literature. 
I'olstoy  straddles  the  two  hemispheres,  having 
written  one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  cen- 
tury, and  like  some  John  Knox  of  the  North, 
he  thunders  at  our  materialism  and  cries, 
"  Ye  of  little  faith,  follow  me,  for  I  alone  am 
following  the  true  Christ  Jesus,  our  Lord 
and  Saviour !  " 

In  politics  Russia  is  the  unknown  quantity 
that  fills  the  sleep  of  statesmen  with  restless 
dreams.  In  painting  she  is  frankly  imitative 
and  too  closely  chained  to  the  technical  ideals 
of  Paris  ;  in'sculpture  the  name  of  Antokolsky 
rivals  Rodin,  while  in  music  she  is  a  formidable 
foe  of  Germany. 

One  is  almost  tempted  to  write  that  much 
Russian  music,  certainly  all  modern  Russian 
piano  music  comes  from  Frederic  Chopin,  if 
you  did  not  remember  Chopin's  Slavic  affili- 
ations. Yet  in  a  sense  it  is  true.  Chopin 
plays  a  big  part  in  the  harmonic  scheme  of 
all  latter-day  composers,  Wagner  not  excepted. 
82 


A   :\IODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

Not  alone  in  the  use  of  dispersed  harmo- 
nies was  he  a  pioneer,  but  in  the  employment 
of  the  chromatic  scale,  in  the  manipulation 
of  mixed  scales,  the  exotic  scales  savoring  of 
Asiatic  origin ;  Tschaikowsky  and  Dvorak 
transferred  to  a  broader  canvas  and  subjected 
to  a  freer  handling  many  of  the  Polish  mas- 
ter's ideas.  To  deny  to  Chopin  originality 
of  themes,  rhythms  and  harmonic  invention 
would  be  pushing  the  story  back  one  notch 
too  many.  Weber,  Rossini,  Grieg,  Liszt, 
Dvorak,  Glinka,  indeed  all  the  nationalists  in 
music,  might  also  be  challenged  critically  on 
the  score  of  originality. 

If  Russian  music,  the  only  organized  musical 
speech  of  the  nation,  owes  something  to 
Chopin,  Michael  Glinka  was  unquestionably 
its  father,  for,  like  Weber,  he  lovingly  plucked 
from  the  soil  the  native  wild  flowers  and  gave 
them  a  setting  in  his  Ruslan  and  Life  for 
the  Czar.  In  his  train  and  representing  the 
old  Russian  school  are  Alexander  Darjomisky 
and  Alexander  Seroff,  while  with  "  Neo- 
Russia"  rudely  blazoned  on  their  banner, 
follow  the  names  Cesar  Cui,  Rimski-Korsakofif, 
Borodin,  Balakirefif,  Liadow,  Glazounow, 
Stcherbatcheff,  Arenski,  Moussorgsky,  Vladi- 
mir Stassofif  and  others.  Outside  of  this  pale 
and  viewed  Avith  suspicious  eyes  stand  the 
83 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

figures  of  Anton  Rubinstein,  who  went  to 
Germany  and  made  music  more  Teutonic 
than  Russian,  and  Piotor  Ilyitch  Tschaikow- 
sky,  who,  hke  Chopin  had  French  blood  in 
his  veins,  his  mother  being  the  descendant 
of  a  family  of  French  emigrants. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  compare  the 
cosmopolitanism  of  Tschaikowsk)-  and  Iv-an 
Turgenev.  The  great  novelist,  one  of  the 
greatest  in  Russia  and  France,  was  regarded 
by  his  contemporaries  in  the  same  fashion  as 
the  little  masters  regarded  Tschai'kowsky. 
The  big  men  like  Gogol,  Pushkin,  Dostoiew 
sky  were  followed  by  scores  of  imitators,  who 
wore  their  blouses  untucked  in  their  trousers. 
This  was  their  symbol,  and  their  watchword 
was  "  We  are  going  to  the  people."  It  was  a 
savage  reaction  against  cosmopolitan  influ- 
ences, for  Russia  has  successively  suffered 
from  the  invasion  of  English,  French  and 
German  ideas,  customs,  manners  and  even 
costumes.  The  rabid  Slavophilist  would 
have  none  of  these ;  he  hated  Italian  pictures, 
German  philosophy  and  French  literature. 

Now  Turgenev,  loving  Russia  with  a  great 
love,  yet  exiled  himself  to  study  his  country 
from  afar.  He  saw  her  faults,  he  knew  her 
rash,  crass  ignorance,  her  greed  for  foreign 
flattery,  and  he  also  felt  her  heartbeat.  Not 
84 


A   MODERN    MUSIC   LORD 

ev^en  Tolstoy  is  more  drenched  with  affection 
for  his  land,  not  even  Tolstoy  wrote  with 
more  passion  and  pathos  of  his  countr}-men. 
But  Turgenev  lived  in  Paris.  He  was  a  great 
artist  in  words  as  well  as  ideas,  and  his  artistry 
was  so  much  damning  evidence  against  him 
by  the  cultivators  of  the  new  Chauvinisme. 
What  was  form  and  finish  to  them  that  were 
"going  to  the  people?"  And  so  this  noble 
man  went  to  his  grave  discredited  by  his  own 
people,  and  homage  was  accorded  him  by  a 
foreign  nation.  It  broke  his  heart,  and  the 
same  rank  nationalism  certainly  embittered 
the  last  days  of  Tschaikowsky  who,  like  Tur- 
genev, practised  his  art  passionately  and 
persistently;  and  while  the  little  men,  Cui, 
Borodin  and  the  rest,  were  theorizing  and 
dabbling  with  nationalism,  he,  like  a  patient 
architect,  reared  his  superb  tonal  edifices, 
built  of  the  blood  and  brawn  and  brain  of 
Russia,  even  though  here  and  there  the  ar- 
chitecture revealed  his  Western  European 
predilections. 

In  a  word,  Turgenev,  Tschaikowsky  and 
Tolstoy  were  travelled  men ;  they  drank 
deeply  at  all  the  founts  of  modern  poetry 
and  philosophy,  and  each,  without  losing  his 
native  quality,  expressed  himself  after  the  man- 
ner of  his  individual  nature  and  experience, 
85 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

and  how  infinitely  wider  in  range,  depth  and 
versatihty  are  the  utterances  of  these  three 
masterful  artists  when  compared  with  the  nar- 
row, provincial  and  parochial  efforts  of  their 
belittlers !  And  then  the  three  are  great, 
not  alone  because  of  their  nation;  they  are 
great  personalities  who  would  make  tremble 
the  ground  of  any  other  land. 

Rubinstein  alone  seems  to  have  slipped 
betvveen  the  stools  of  race  and  religion.  Born 
a  Jew,  raised  a  Christian,  and  of  Polish  origin, 
he  played  the  piano  like  a  god,  and  his  com- 
positions are  never  quite  German,  never  quite 
Russian.  He  has  been  called  the  greatest 
pianist  among  the  composers  and  the  greatest 
composer  among  the  pianists,  yet  has  hardly 
received  his  just  due. 

Tschaikovvsky's  life  is  the  record  of  a 
simple,  severe  workingman  of  art.  Clouded 
by  an  unfortunate  and  undoubted  psycho- 
pathic temperament,  he  suffered  greatly  and 
shunned  publicity,  and  was  denied  even  the 
joys  and  comforts  of  a  happy  home.  He 
died  of  cholera,  but  grave  rumors  circulated 
in  St.  Petersburg  the  day  of  his  funeral ; 
rumors  that  have  never  been  quite  proved 
false,  and  his  sixth  and  last  symphony  is 
called  by  some  the  Suicide  Symphony.  A 
complete  nervous  breakdown  resulted  in 
86 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

1877,  and  his  entire  existence  was  clouded 
by  some  secret  sorrow,  the  origin  of  which 
we  can  dimly  surmise,  but  need  not  inves- 
tigate. A  reticent  man,  a  man  of  noble 
instincts,  despite  some  curious  pre-natal  in- 
fluences, of  winning  manners,  honest  as  the 
tides,  Tschaikowsky  went  through  his  ap- 
pointed days  an  apparition  of  art,  and  in  its 
practice  he  lived  and  had  his  being. 

He  was  born  April  25,  1840,  at  Votinsk,  in 
the  Government  of  Viatka,  in  the  Ural  dis- 
trict. He  died  November  5,  1893,  at  St. 
Petersburg. 

In  Ma}',  1 89 1,  Tschaikowsky,  at  the  invi- 
tation of  IMr.  Walter  Damrosch,  visited 
America  and  appeared  in  the  series  of  festi- 
val concerts  with  which  Carnegie  Hall  was 
opened.  The  composer  conducted  his  third 
suite,  his  first  piano  concerto  in  B  flat  minor, 
the  piano  part  taken  by  Adele  Aus  der  Ohe, 
and  two  a  capella  choruses.  He  subse- 
quently visited  other  cities,  and  was  every- 
where received  with  enthusiasm. 

Tschai'kowsky's  last  notable  public  appear- 
ance was  in  the  summer  of  1893,  when  he 
conducted  some  of  his  own  works  at  Oxford, 
and  received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Music 
from  the  Universit}^ 


87 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 


II 

In  1877  Tschaikowsky  became  engaged  to 
a  lady  whom  he  had  met  at  the  house 
of  her  relatives  sixteen  or  seventeen  years 
previously. 

That  he  married  her  was  known  to  few, 
and  the  musical  world  was  surprised  at  the 
mention  of  a  wife  Antonina  in  the  composer's 
will.  She  received  an  annuity,  but  not  a 
liberal  one,  and  perhaps  that  is  the  reason 
she  disclosed  the  history  of  the  curious 
courtship  and  marriage  of  Peter  Ilyitch 
Tschaikowsky. 

He  was  constitutionally  timid,  and  morbid 
in  his  dislike  of  women ;  his  friends  advised 
marriage.  But  he  was  nervous  and  moody 
and  in  no  hurry,  yet  when  Antonina  told  him 
that  she  intended  to  study  at  the  Conserva- 
tory he  said : 

"  It  were  better  that  you  married  !  " 

Peter  hung  fire,  and  Antonina,  who  had 
secretly  loved  him  for  four  years,  finally, 
after  much  church  going  and  prayer  vigils, 
determined  to  assist  her  modest  friend  — 
suitor  he  was  not.  She  wrote  him  a  letter 
proposing  marriage,  which  he  answered,  and 
of  all  their  acquaintance  this  seems  to  have 
83 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

been  the  happiest  time.  She  must  have  had 
a  good  hterary  style,  for  Peter  praised  it,  and 
finally  called  on  her.  He  spoke  of  his  gray 
hairs,  but  never  mentioned  hers,  although 
she  was  at  least  thirty-four  —  he  was  seven 
years  her  senior.  She  answered  that  merely 
to  sit  near  him  and  hear  him  talk  or  play 
was  all  she  asked.  Again  he  hesitated  and 
begged  for  a  day's  grace.  The  next  time 
he  saw  her  he  said  he  had  never  loved  ;  that 
he  was  too  old  to  love,  but  as  she  was  the 
first  woman  he  had  ever  met  that  had  pleased 
him  he  would  make  a  proposition.  It  was 
this :  If  a  brotherly  love  and  union  would 
satisfy  her  ideal  of  mated  life  he  would  con- 
sent to  a  marriage.  After  this  coy  proposal 
the  matter  was  debated  in  a  perfectly  calm 
manner,  and  as  he  left  her  he  asked : 

"  Well  ?  "  She  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  he  hastily  fled. 

After  that  he  visited  her  during  the  after- 
noons, but  avoided  all  attempts  at  tenderness, 
only  kissed  her  hand,  and  even  dispensed 
with  the  familiar  "  thou."  In  a  week  he 
begged  for  a  month's  leave  of  absence,  as 
he  had  to  finish  his  opera,  Eugene  Onegin. 
Madame  TschaTkowsky  declared  that  it  was 
"  a  composition  dictated  by  love."  Onegin 
isTschaikowsky,  Tatjana  is  Antonina,  and  she 
89 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

furthermore  said  that  all  the  operas  he  had 
written  before  or  since  meeting  her  were  cold. 
The  marriage  occurred  July  27,  1877,  eleven 
days  after  Tschatkowsk-y  returned  to  Moscow. 

The  sequel  of  such  an  extraordinary  woo- 
ing may  be  easily  foreseen.  Tschaikowsky's 
morbidity  increased,  and  he  seems  to  hav^e 
taken  an  intense  dislike  to  his  bride.  Every- 
thing she  did  displeased  him;  he  objected  to 
her  costumes,  and  one  can  hardly  blame  him, 
for  at  the  tea  table  one  evening  she  appeared 
in  a  light  yellow  gcnvn,  wearing  a  coral  neck- 
lace !  When  he  discovered  the  corals  were 
imitation  he  burst  from  the  room,  crying: 
"  How  fine,  my  wife  wears  false  corals  !  " 

In  six  weeks  Tschaikowsky  had  enough  of 
married  hfe,  and  left  for  a  Caucasian  water 
cure ;  but  it  was  really  an  excuse,  as  he  went 
to  visit  his  sister.  She  must  have  given  him 
advice,  for  he  returned  to  his  wife ;  but  after 
three  weeks  more,  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
month  of  November,  he  told  her  that  he  had 
a  business  trip  to  make.  She  went  unsus- 
pectingly with  him  to  the  railroad  depot, 
where  his  courage  almost  forsook  him,  and 
he  took  his  final  leave  of  her,  trembling  like  a 
drunken  man.  He  embraced  her  several 
times,  and  finally  pushed  her  away  with  the 
ejaculation; 

90 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

"  Now  go  ;  God  be  with  you  !  "  They  never 
met  again.  She  only  partially  explains  the 
catastrophe  by  saying  that  outside  influences 
were  brought  to  bear  on  her  husband. 
Averse  to  conjugal  life,  credulous  as  a  child 
and  extremely  irritable,  he  was  led  to  believe 
that  matrimony  would  prove  fatal  to  his 
development  as  a  musician.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  this  was  true ;  indeed  for  such  a 
neurotic,  erratic  temperament  marriage  was 
little  better  than  prussic  acid.  Antonina 
doubtlessly  suffered  much  and  understood 
Tschaikowsky's  peculiarities,  yet  she  did  not 
complain  until  after  his  death,  and  then  only 
when  she  found  that  the  bulk  of  his  property 
had  been  left  to  his  favorite  nephew. 

There  is  no  need  of  further  delving  into 
the  pathology  of  this  case,  which  bears  all 
the  hall  marks  familiar  to  specialists  in  nerv- 
ous diseases,  but  it  is  well  to  keep  the  fact  in 
view,  because  of  its  important  bearing  on 
his  music,  some  of  which  is  truly  pathological. 

I  once  wrote  of  Tschaikowsky  that  he  said 
great  things  in  a  great  manner.  Now  I  some- 
times feel  that  the  manner  often  exceeds  the 
matter;  that  his  masterly  manipulation  of 
mediocre  thematic  material  often  leads  us 
astray ;  yet,  at  his  best,  when  idea  and  execu- 
tion are  firmly  welded,  this  man  is  a  great 
91 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

man ;  one  who  felt  deeply,  suffered  and  drank 
deeply  at  the  acid  spring  of  sorrow.  Not  as 
logical  nor  as  profound  a  thinker  as  Brahms, 
he  is  more  dramatic,  more  intense,  and  dis- 
plays more  surface  emotion.  You  miss  the 
mighty  sullen  and  sluggish  ground  swells 
of  feeling  in  Tschaikowsky ;  but  then  he 
paints  better  than  the  Hamburg-Vienna  com- 
poser; his  brush  is  dipped  in  more  glowing 
colors ;  his  palette  is  more  various  in  hues, 
while  the  barbaric  swing  of  his  music  is  usually 
tempered  by  European  culture  and  restraint. 
Reticent  in  life,  he  overflows  in  his  art.  No 
composer  except  Schumann  tells  us  so  much 
of  himself.  Eveiy  piece  of  his  work  is  signed, 
and  often  he  does  not  hesitate  to  make  the 
most  astounding,  the  most  alarming  confes- 
sions. 

He  fulfilled  in  his  music  much  that  Rubin- 
stein left  unsaid.  Rubinstein  was  a  Teutonic 
mind  Russianized ;  but,  unlike  Rubinstein, 
Tschal'kowsky,  with  all  his  Western  culture, 
kept  liis  skirts  clear  of  Germany.  Her  science 
he  had  at  his  finger  tips,  but  he  preferred 
remaining  Russian.  His  ardent  musical  tem- 
perament was  strongly  affected  by  France 
and  Italy.  He  has  certainly  loved  the  lus- 
cious cantilena  of  Italy,  and  has  worshipped 
at  the  strange  shrine  of  Berlioz.  Indeed 
92 


'A  ^„ 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

Berlioz  and  Liszt  are  his  artistic  sponsors; 
and  the  French  strain  in  his  blood  must  not 
be  overlooked. 

In  his  later  years,  as  if  his  own  clime  had 
chilled  his  spirit,  he  solaced  himself  in  Italy 
and  Spain,  a  not  incurious  taste  in  a  stern 
Northman.  Despite  his  Western  affiliation 
there  is  always  some  Asiatic  lurking  in 
TschaYkowsky's  scores.  One  can  never  be 
quite  sure  when  the  Caimuck  — which  is  said 
to  be  skin  deep  in  every  Russian  — will  break 
forth.  Gusts  of  unbridled  passions,  smelling 
of  the  rapine  of  Gogol's  wild  heroes  of  the 
Steppes,  sweep  across  his  pages,  and  some- 
times the  smell  of  blood  is  too  much  for 
us,  unaccustomed  as  we  are  to  such  a  high 
noon  of  rout,  revelry  and  disorder. 

He  was  a  poet  as  well  as  a  musician.  He 
preached  more  treason  against  his  govern- 
ment than  did  Pushkin,  or  those  "  cannons 
buried  in  flowers  "  of  the  Pole  Chopin.  His^ 
culture  was  many  sided ;  he  could  paint  the 
desperate  loves  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  could 
master  Hamlet,  the  doubting  thinker  and 
man  of  sensibility;  could  feel  the  pathetic 
pain  of  Francesca  da  Rimini,  and  proved  that 
Lermontov  was  not  the  only  Slav  who  under- 
stood Byron's  Manfred ;  he  set  Tolstoy's  sere- 
nade to  barbaric  Iberian  tones,  and  wrote 
•     -       93 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

with  tears  at  his  heart  that  most  movipg  son^^ 
Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht  Kennt,  -a^sdn^^har'- 
epitomizes  Goethe's  poem ;  and  then  only 
think  of  the  F  minor,  the  E  minor  and  the  B 
minor  symphonies !  What  a  wonderful  man 
he  was !  and  how  his  noble  personality  tops 
all  the  little  masters  of  the  Neo-Russian 
school ! 

Tschaikowsky  was  one  who  felt  many  in- 
^uences  before  he  hewed  for  himself  a  clear 
cut,  individual  path.  We  continually  see  in 
him  the  ferment  of  the  young  East,  rebelling, 
tugging  against  the  restraining  bonds  of  Occi- 
dental culture.  But,  like  Turgenev,  he  chas- 
tened his  art;  he  polished  it,  and  gave  us  the 
cry,  the  song  of  the  strange  land  in  a  worthy, 
artistic  setting.  His  feeling  for  hues,  as  shown 
in  his  instrumentation,  is  wonderful.  His  or- 
chestra fairly  blazes  at  times.  He  is  higher 
pitched  in  his  color  scheme  than  any  of  the 
moderns,  with  the  exception  of  Richard 
Strauss;  but  while  we  get  daring  harmonic 
combinations,  there  are  no  unnatural  unions 
of  instruments  ;  no  forced  marriages  of  reeds 
and  brass ;  no  artificial  or  high  pitched  voic- 
ing, nor  are  odd  and  archaic  instruments  em- 
ployed. Indeed  Tschaikowsky  uses  sparingly 
the  English  horn.  His  orchestra  is  normal. 
His  possible  weakness  is  the  flute,  for  which 
94  , 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

he  had  an  enormous  predilection.  His  im- 
agination sometimes  played  him  sinister 
tricks,  such  as  the  higubrious  valse  in  the 
Fifth  S}'mphony  and  the  stinging  shower  of 
pizzicati  in  the  Fourth. 

He  was  not  a  great  symphonist  Hke  Brahms  ; 
he  had  not  the  sense  of  formal  beauty,  prefer- 
ring instead  to  work  in  free  fashion  within  the 
easy  and  loosely  flowing  lines  of  the  overture- 
fantaisie.  The  roots  of  the  form  are  not  diffi- 
cult to  discover.  The  Liszt  symphonic  poem 
and  its  congeries  were  for  Tschaikowsky  a 
point  of  departure.  Dr.  Dvorak  was  there- 
fore in  a  sense  correct  when  he  declared  to 
me  that  Tschaikowsky  was  not  as  great  a 
symphonist  as  a  variationist. 

He  takes  small,  compact  themes,  nugget- 
like motives,  which  he  subjects  to  the  most 
daring  and  scrutinizing  treatment.  He  pol- 
ishes, expands,  varies  and  develops  his  ideas 
in  a  marvellous  manner,  and  if  the  form  is 
often  wavering  the  decoration  is  always  gor- 
geous. Tschaikowsky  is  seldom  a  landscape 
painter;  he  has  not  the  open  air  naivete  of 
Dvorak,  but  his  voice  is  a  more  cultivated 
one.  He  has  touched  many  of  the  master 
minds  of  literature  —  Shakespeare,  Dante, 
Goethe,  Byron  and  Tolstoy,  and  is  able  to 
give  in  the  most  condensed,  dramatic  style  his 
95 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

subjective  impressions  of  their  poems.  He 
is  first  and  last  a  dramatic  poet.  He  deline- 
ates the  human  soul  in  the  convulsions  of  love, 
hate,  joy  and  fear;  he  is  an  unique  master 
of  rhythms  and  of  the  torrential  dynamics  that 
express  primal  emotions  in  the  full  flood. 
His  music  has  not  the  babbling  rivulets,  the 
unclouded  skies,  the  sweet  and  swirling 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses  of  Dvorak,  but 
it  is  more  psychologic.  Give  TschaYkowsky 
one  or  two  large  human  figures,  give  him  a 
stirring  situation,  and  then  hark  to  the  man  as 
his  dramatic  impulse  begins  to  play  havoc. 
As  well  talk  of  form  to  Browning  when  Ottima 
and  Seebold  faced  each  other  in  the  ghastly 
glare  of  the  lightning  in  that  guilty  garden  of 
old  Italy ! 

Tschaikowsky  has  more  to  say  than  any 
other  Russian  composer,  and  says  it  better. 
He  is  no  mere  music  maker,  as  Rubinstein 
often  is,  writing  respectable,  uninspired  rou- 
tine stuff.  He  worked  earnestly,  tremen- 
dously. Hence  we  find  in  his  music  great 
intellectual  energy,  g^rejit  ^dramatic  power, 
ofttimes  beauty  of  utterance,  although  he  is 
less  spontaneous  than  Rubinstein.  He  had 
not  that  master's  native  talent,  but  he  culti- 
vated his  gifts  with  more  assiduity.  His 
style  is  not  impeccable,  and  is  seldom  lofty, 
96 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

but  he  has  plenty  of  melody,  charming 
melody,  and  while  he  was  not  a  seeker  after 
the  one  precious  word,  the  perfect  phrase, 
yet  his  measures  are  more  polished ;  show 
the  effect  of  a  keener  and  more  rigorous 
criticism  than  Rubinstein's. 

Tschaikowsky  is  eclectic,  and  many  cosmo- 
politan woofs  run  through  the  fabric  of  his 
music.  Italy  influenced,  then  Germany,  then 
France,  and  in  his  latter  day  he  let  lightly  fall 
the  reins  on  the  neck  of  his  Pegasus,  and  was 
much  given  to  joyously  riding  in  the  fabled 
country  of  ballet,  pantomime  and  other  de- 
lightful places.  '  • "'  •  '  '"'  ■ '  i^  •    ■  %     ^ 

He  is  eminently  nervous,  modern  and  in- ^^-'^^ -"'"?■ -< 
tense;  he  felt  deeply  and  suffered  greatly; 
soliis  music  is  fibred  with  sorrow,  and  some-  -^^ 

times  morbid  and  full  of  hectic  passion.  He 
is  often  feverishly  unhealthy,  and  is  never  as 
sane  as  Brahms  or  Saint-Saens.  His  gamut 
is  not  so  wide  as  deep  and  troubled,  and  he 
has  exquisite  moments  of  madness.  He  can 
be  heroic,  tender,  bizarre  and  hugely  fierce. 
His  music  bites,  and  the  ethical  serenity  of 
Beethoven  he  never  attains ;  but  of  what 
weighty  import  are  some  of  his  scores ;  what 
passionate  tumults,  what  defiance  of  the 
powers  that  be,  what  impotent  titanic 
straining,  what  masses  of  tone  he  sends 
7  97 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

scurrying  across  his  pain-riven  canvases ! 
The  tragedy  of  a  life  is  penned  behind  the 
bars  of  his  music.  Tschaikowsky  was  out  of 
joint  with  his  surroundings ;  women  de- 
Hghted  him  not,  and  so  he  solaced  himself 
with  herculean  labors  —  labors  that  made 
him  the  most  interesting,  but  not  the  greatest 
composer  of  his  day. 

He  had  in  a  rare  degree  the  gift  of  musical 
characterization ;  the  power  of  telling  in  the 
orchestra  a  poetic  story,  and  without  the 
accessories  of  footlights,  scenery,  costumes  or 
singers.  Charles  Lamb  most  certainly  would 
aot  have  admired  him. 

And  Russia,  how  he  loved  her!  That 
wonderful  Russia  which  Turgenev  loved  and 
divined  so  perfectly.  Listen  to  Turgenev; 
listen  to  the  pessimistic  side  of  the  Russian: 

"  Sadness  came  over  me  and  a  kind  of  in- 
different dreariness.  And  I  was  not  sad  and 
dreary  simply  because  it  was  Russia  I  was 
flying  over.  No ;  the  earth  itself;  this  flat 
surface  which  lay  spread  out  beneath  me  ;  the 
whole  earthly  globe,  with  its  populations, 
multitudinous,  feeble,  crushed  by  want,  grief 
and  diseases,  bound  to  a  clod  of  pitiful  dust; 
this  brittle,  rough  crust,  this  shell  over  the 
fiery  sands  of  our  planet,  overspread  with  the 
mildew  we    call    the    organic  vegetable  king- 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

dom;  these  human  flies,  a  thousand  times 
paltrier  than  flies,  their  dwellings  glued  to- 
gether with  filth,  the  pitiful  traces  of  their 
tiny,  monotonous  bustle,  of  their  comic 
struggle  with  the  unchanging  and  inevitable 
—  how  revolting  it  all  suddenly  was  to  me  ! 
My  heart  turned  slowly  sick,  and  I  could  not 
bear  to  gaze  longer  on  these  trivial  pictures, 
on  this  vulgar  show.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  felt  dreary, 
worse  than  dreary.  Even  pity  I  felt  nothing 
of  for  my  brother  men ;  all  feelings  in  me 
were  merged  in  one,  which  I  scarcely  dare  to 
name :  A  feeling  of  loathing,  and  stronger 
than  all  and  more  than  all  within  me  was  the 
loathing  —  for  myself." 

Now  turn  from  this  Hamlet-mood  and  read 
'  The  Beggar ! 

I  was  walking  along  the  street.  .  .  .  I  was  stopped 
by  a  decrepit  old  beggar. 

Bloodshot,  tearful  eyes,  blue  lips,  coarse  rags, 
festering  wounds.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  hideously  poverty 
had  eaten  into  this  miserable  creature  ! 

He  held  out  to  me  a  red,  swollen,  filthy  hand. 
He  groaned,  he  mumbled  of  help. 

I  began  feeling  in  all  my  pockets.  .  .  .  No 
purse,  no  watch,  not  even  a  handkerchief.  ...  I 
had  taken  nothing  with  me.  And  the  beggar  was 
still  waiting,  .  .  .  and  his  outstretched  hand  feebly 
shook  and  trembled. 

99 


MEZZOTINTS   IX   IMODERN   MUSIC 

Confused,  abashed,  I  warmly  clasped  the  filthy, 
shaking  hand.  ..."  Don't  be  angry,  brother ;  I 
have  nothing,  brother." 

The  beggar  stared  at  me  with  his  bloodshot 
eyes;  his  blue  lips  smiled,  and  he  in  his  turn 
gripped  my  chilly  fingers. 

'•What  of  it,  brother?"  he  mumbled,  "thanks 
for  this  too.     That  is  a  gift  too,  brother." 

I  knew  that  I,  too,  had  received  a  gift  from  my 
brother. 

Russia,  a  stripling  with  stout,  straight  limbs 
and  white  liair,  is  all  fire,  caprice,  melancholy 
and  revolt.  Turgenev,  more  cosmopolitan, 
lighter  in  his  touch  than  Tolstoy  or  TschaT- 
kowsky,  is  able  to  give  us  in  these  two  prose 
poems  the  sadness  and  the  big  heart  of 
the  Slav,  but  in  Tschai'kowsky  we  get  the 
melancholy,  the  caprice,  the  fire  and  the 
revolt.  If  he  be  not  the  most  Russian  of 
composers,  he  is  certainly  the  greatest  com- 
poser of  Russia ! 


Ill 

Like  Rubinstein,  Tschai'kowsky  became 
celebrated  as  a  composer  after  he  had  written 
a  little  piano  piece  —  a  Chanson  Sans  Paroles, 
curiously  enough  in  the  same  key  as  Rubin- 
stein's melody  in  F.     A  Polish  dance,  as  we 

lOO 


A   MODERN    MUSIC   LOliC  ■ 

all  know,  lighted  Schanvenka's  torch  of  fame 
in  this  country.  Tschaikowsky  has  never 
since  written  so  tender,  so  dainty  a  piece  as 
this  little  song  without  words.  An  op.  2,  it 
gave  him  a  vogue  in  the  salon  that  has  sent 
many  a  shallow  admirer  to  sorrow,  for  it  may 
be  said  at  the  outset  that  his  compositions  for 
piano  are  not  Klaviermassig,  do  not  lie  well 
for  the  flat  keyboard. 

Read  the  very  first  opus,  the  Russian 
Scherzo  in  B  flat,  and  }-ou  encounter  a  style 
that  is  decidedly  orchestral.  Massive  octave 
and  chord  work,  v.-ith  dangerous  skips  and  a 
general  disregard  for  the  well-sounding.  In 
nearly  all  of  his  piano  music  I  find  this  striv- 
ing for  the  expression  of  the  idea  at  the 
expense  of  smooth  delivery,  and  we  who  have 
outlived  the  technical  opportunism  of  the 
school  that  shuddered  at  the  placing  of  the 
thumb  on  a  black  key  must  of  necessity 
defend  this  course ;  but  I  wish  to  say  for 
the  benefit  of  those  who  groan  over  Brahms 
that  he  is  a  veritable  Chopin  compared  to 
Tschaikowsky  —  a  veritable  Chopin  in  his 
feeling  for  the  right  word  and  the  right 
mechanical  placing  of  it.  Tschai'kowsky's 
WTiting  for  piano  is  that  of  the  composer  for 
orchestra.  He  thinks  orchestrally,  and  his 
position    as    a   technician    might   be    placed 

lOI 


MEZZ(3TINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

midway  between  Schumann  and  Liszt.  Bee- 
thoven, employing  the  technics  nearest  at 
hand  —  the  Clementi  technics  —  WTites  more 
idiomatically  for  the  instrument  than  this 
latter-day  Russian  master.  Hence  the  gen- 
eral indifference  to  his  music  manifested  by 
pianists ;  hence  the  rareness  of  his  name  on 
concert  programmes,  for  the  whole  tribe  of 
pianists  is  sheep-like  in  its  aversion  to  a  new 
pasture,  and  only  after  the  leader  has  leaped 
the  gap  in  the  hedge  does  it  timidly  follow 
and  sniff  at  novel  herbage. 

For  teaching  purposes  the  pedagogue  en- 
counters a  genuine  bar  in  Tschaikowsky's 
smaller  pieces.  After  a  page  of  delightful 
and  facile  writing,  a  flock  of  double  notes  or 
a  nasty  patch  of  octaves  appear,  and  some- 
times the  teacher  is  himself  floored  by  the 
difficulties.  You  may  count  on  one  hand  the 
popular  piano  compositions  of  a  small  genre 
—  the  song  without  words,  a  real  serenata, 
if  ever  there  was  one,  with  a  streak  of  dark 
pathos  in  the  middle ;  the  number  called 
June,  from  the  Seasons,  in  the  key  of  G 
minor,  a  barcarolle  hinting  of  Mendelssohn 
and  a  stepfather  to  Moriz  Moszkowski's  bar- 
carolle; the  theme  and  variations  from  op,  19, 
a  scherzo  in  F  from  Souvenir  de  Hapsal,  and 
the  Album  d'Enfants,  op.  39. 
102 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

I  shall  not  consider  in  detail  all  the  piano 
orchestral  or  lyric  works  of  Tschaikowsky, 
but  only  the  typical  ones,  and,  furthermore, 
I  urge  pianists  who  are  clamoring  for  a  novel 
repertory  to  study  and  search  for  them- 
selves and  not  be  deterred  by  the  absence  of 
stereotyped  forms  of  passage  work,  for,  while 
Tschaikowsky  is  never  a  path-breaker  in  this 
respect,  his  piano  music  is  not  always  cast  in 
an  acceptable  mould. 

I  have  mentioned  op.  i,  No.  i,  as  being  a 
Scherzo  a  la  Russe ;  the  second  number  an 
Impromptu.  The  little  scherzo  in  F  from 
op.   2   is  tricky  and  full  of  vitality. 

It  is  not  difficult.  The  second  theme  is 
very  pretty.  This  op.  2  also  contains 
"Ruines  d'un  Chateau,"  and  the  familiar 
song  without  words,  op.  3  —  you  see,  I  am  in 
deadly  earnest  and  mean  to  give  you  the 
story  to  its  bitter  end  —  is  the  opera  Voye- 
vode.  Op.  4  is  Valse  Caprice,  for  piano  in 
A  flat,  very  brilliant;  op.  5,  the  piano  Ro- 
mance much  played  by  Rubinstein ;  op.  6  is 
composed  of  six  romances  for  voice ;  op.  7 
is  a  piano  Valse-Scherzo,  also  played  by 
Rubinstein ;  op.  8,  a  Capriccio  for  piano  in 
G  flat;  op.  9,  three  piano  pieces  —  a  Reverie, 
a  Polka  and  a  IMazourka;  op.  10,  two  piano 
pieces — a  Nocturne  in  B  and  a  Humoresque; 
103 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

op.  II,  the  famous  string  quartet,  E  flat, 
with  its  entrancing  slow  movement;  op.  12, 
an  opera  rejoicing  in  the  felicitous  title  of 
Snegourotschka,  or  La  Fille  de  Neige,  a 
lyric  drama  in  three  acts.  It  was  damned 
by  Russian  critics.  Op.  13  —  at  last  we  come 
to  a  symphony,  the  first  in  G  minor,  some- 
times called  A  Winter's  Journey.  It  has 
been  played  here. 

The  work  took  shape  under  Rubinstein's 
eyes  and  has  an  antiquated  flavor.  It  was 
composed  in  1868  when  Tschaikowsky  taught 
at  the  St.  Petersburg  Conservatory.  If  it 
were  not  for  the  last  movement,  which 
has  a  smack  of  the  Calmuck,  and  the  modern 
instrumentation,  I  should  say  that  Mendels- 
sohn had  more  to  do  with  this  youthful 
composition  than  Rubinstein.  There  is  the 
same  saccharine  volubility,  the  same  saccha- 
rine cantabile  and  the  same  damnable  fluency 
that  characterizes  the  work  of  the  feline  Felix. 
Of  the  poet  that  penned  those  masterpieces, 
Francesca,  Hamlet  and  Romeo  et  Juliette 
there  is  not  the  faintest  spoor. 

The  symphony  is  monotonously  in  the  key 
of  G  minor,  with  the  exception  of  the  adagio. 
It  is  called  A  Winter  Journey,  and  the 
slush  must  have  been  ankle-deep.  The  first 
two  movements  are  labelled.  Winter  Journey 
104 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

Dreams  and  Foggy  Landscape,  which  of 
course  may  mean  anything  or  nothing.  The 
Allegro  tranquillo  is  smooth,  even  smug, 
and  one  entire  phrase  for  the  wood-wind 
occurs  in  the  working-out  section  of  the  first 
movement  of  Rubinstein's  D  minor  piano 
concerto.  The  adagio  is  well  made  but  is 
not  musically  convincing,  notwithstanding  its 
dark,  rustling  introduction,  and  the  pretty 
conversation  between  oboe  and  flute.  When 
the  'celli  take  up  the  solo  one  feels  as  if 
something  were  being  accomplished.  The 
scherzo  is  a  melancholy  apology  and  the 
trio  cheap.  In  the  finale,  noisy  and  bar- 
baric, we  get  a  taste  of  our  Tschaikowsky, 
despite  the  garishness  of  loosely  built  fabric. 
The  work  is  promising  but  we  miss  the 
large  sweep,  the  poetic,  passionate  inten 
sity,  the  keen  note  of  naturalism  and  the 
fine  intellectual  acidity  which  we  look  for  in 
this  great  composer. 

Oddly  enough  it  was  TschaYkowsky's  favor- 
ite as  is  evidenced  by  the  following  com- 
munication from  Mr.  E.  Francis  Hyde  the 
president  of  the  New  York  Philharmonic 
Society :  "  When  Tschaikowsky  was  in  this 
country  in  the  spring  of  1891  I  used  fre- 
quently to  see  and  converse  with  him  about 
musical  matters.  One  evening  when  he  was 
105 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

at  my  house,  I  had  taken  from  my  hbrary 
the  scores  of  his  second,  third,  fourth 
and  fifth  symphonies  and  narrated  to  him 
the  times  of  their  first  production  in  this 
country,  and  the  circumstances  connected 
with  their  performance.  I  then  asked  him 
which  one  of  all  his  symphonies  he  liked  the 
best,  naturally  supposing  he  would  mention 
one  of  those  lying  before  us.  To  my  sur- 
prise however,  he  replied  that  he  liked  his 
first  symphony  best  of  all.  He  said  that  it 
was  the  first  expression  of  his  feelings  in  a 
large  composition  of  purely  orchestral  form, 
and  he  had  a  peculiar  affection  for  his  first 
born.  He  did  not  enter  into  any  details 
regarding  its  subject-matter  but  he  expressed 
a  hope  that  it  would  soon  be  produced  in 
this  country." 

Tschaikowsky  may  have  been  indulging 
in  a  little  sentimental  cynicism.  Op.  14  is 
an  opera,  Vakoula,  The  Smith,  in  three 
acts;  op.  15  is  the  Ouverture  Triomphale; 
op.  16  comprises  six  romances  for  voice  with 
piano;  op.  17  the  second  symphony  in  C 
minor   and    known    as    the    Russian. 

In  it  Tschaikowsky  begins  to  reveal  his  skill 

in  orchestration,  and  the  themes  of  the  first 

movement  are  all  strong ;  at  least  two  of  its 

movements  are  not  symphonic  in   character. 

106 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

The  first  allegro,  the  strongest,  is  very  Rus- 
sian in  thematic  quality.  The  entire  move- 
ment is  characterized  by  a  bizarre  freedom, 
even  recklessness.  But  there  can  be  no  doubt 
about  the  skill  of  its  maker.  The  fantastic 
Durchfiihrungsatz  and  the  melancholy  beauty 
of  the  opening  —  and  very  Slavic  theme  — 
are  intimations  of  the  greater  Tschai'kowsky 
who  came  later. 

He  omits  the  slow  movement  and  marches 
us  to  the  lilting  rhythms  of  Raff  and  Gounod. 
The  harmonies  are  more  piquant,  for  the 
Russian  wields  a  marvellous  color  brush.  It 
is  a  clever  episode,  yet  hardly  weighty  enough 
for  symphonic  treatment.  For  that  matter 
neither  is  the  banal  march  in  Raff's  Lenore 
symphony. 

The  scherzo  that  follows  is  in  the  Saint- 
Saens  style.  It  reveals  plenty  of  spirit  and 
there  is  the  diabolic,  riotous  energy  that 
pricks  the  nerves,  yet  never  strikes  fire  in 
our  souls.  The  entire  work  leaves  one  rather 
cold.  The  finale  is  very  charming  and  the 
variation-making  genius  of  the  composer 
peeps  out.  The  movement  has  the  whirl  and 
glow  of  some  wild  dance  mood  and  over 
all  Tschai'kowsky  has  cast  the  spell  of  his 
wondrous  orchestration.  In  the  work  are 
potentialities  that  are  realized  in  his  later 
107 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

symphonic  works.  It  is  our  beloved  Tscha'i- 
kovvsky  but  as  yet  in  precipitation.  In  style 
immature,  there  is  much  groping  after  effects 
—  effects  which  he  used  with  such  a  sure 
touch  in  Hamlet  and  Francesca.  Those  piano 
staccato  chords  for  the  brass  choir,  a  genuine 
mannerism,  are  already  here,  and  his  fondness 
for  chromatic  scales,  contrapuntally  used,  rray 
be  noted.     An  interesting  symphony. 

Op.  1 8  is  The  Tempest,  a  fantaisie  for 
orchestra  I  never  remember  hearing.  It 
was  first  played  here  by  Mr.  Frank  Van  Der 
Stucken. 

In  op.  19  we  come  once  more  upon  familiar 
piano  land,  six  pieces,  the  last  of  which  is  the 
variations  in  F.  These  are  built  upon  an 
original  theme,  simply  harmonized,  savoring 
of  a  Russian  cantus  firmus.  The  first  three 
are  not  striking;  the  fourth,  an  allegro  vivace, 
is  original  in  treatment ;  the  fifth,  an  andante 
amoroso  in  D  flat,  suggests  Chopin  ;  the  sixth, 
very  bold  and  full  of  imitations;  the  seventh, 
short  and  in  the  mode  ecclesiastic ;  eighth,  in 
D  minor,  is  Schumannish ;  nine  is  a  fascinat- 
ing mazourka;  number  ten  is  in  F  minor,  and 
tender;  number  eleven,  Alia  Schumann,  is 
characteristic ;  the  twelfth  on  a  pedal  point  is 
Brahms  in  color,  and  the  presto  finale,  made 
of  a  figure  in  sixteenths,  is  very  brilliant. 
108 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

'i'hese  variations  give  us  a  taste  of  Tschaikow- 
sky's  quality  in  a  form  at  which  he  was  never 
beaten  except  by  Brahms.  They  have  served 
as  models  for  several  composers  of  the 
younger  generation. 

Op.  20  is  "  Le  Lac  de  Cygnes,"  a  ballet  in 
three  acts,  also  unknown  to  us,  but  the  title 
is  a  charming  one;  op.  21  is  six  pieces  for 
piano,  dedicated  to  Rubinstein,  a  prelude, 
fugue,  impromptu,  marche  funebre,  ma- 
zourka  and  scherzo;  op.  22  is  the  second 
string  quartet,  almost  as  famous  as  its  prede- 
cessor, but,  if  more  euphonious,  is  not  marked 
by  the  rude  Russian  vigor  and  originality  of 
op.  1 1  ;  op.  23  is  the  first  piano  concerto  in 
B  flat  minor,  and  here  let  us  tarry  before 
again  plunging  further  in  the  thicket  of  twist- 
ing, octopus-like  numerals. 

This  concerto,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of 
works  of  its  class  written  since  Liszt,  is  quite 
as  fragmentary  as  Xaver  Scharwenka's  con- 
certo in  the  same  key,  but  it  is  more  massive, 
more  symphonic  in  the  sense  of  development, 
weight,  power,  color,  but  not  of  form.  The 
piano  part  is  not  grateful,  yet  it  has  attracted 
the  attention  of  such  a  pianist  as  Von  Billow, 
to  whom  it  is  dedicated. 

The  work  is  interesting  and  full  of  surprises. 
The  march-like  first  theme  in  three-quarter 
109 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

time,  the  astounding  brilliancy  and  fulness 
of  the  piano  part  makes  this  opening  very 
imposing.  The  processional  qualit}'  is  broken 
by  the  enunciation  of  the  theme  in  dotted 
notes,  followed  by  a  Lisztian  cadenza,  with 
a  repetition  later  in  the  orchestra  of  the 
subject.  Then  come  those  truncated,  slurred 
triplets  for  octaves  in  unison,  which  are  so 
portentous,  and  with  which  Tschaikowsky 
accomplishes  so  much ;  makes  a  mountain 
out  of  a  mole  hill.  The  flutes  and  clarinets 
indulge  in  imitations  of  this  until  the  full  choir 
joins  in,  and  then  in  augmented  tempo  the 
piano  repeats,  and  finally  it  all  dies  away  in  a 
cavernous  manner,  leaving  you  in  doubt  as  to 
its  meaning  or  what  to  expect.  But  the  Poco 
meno  mosso  is  delightful,  albeit  its  halting, 
syncopated  accent  breeds  pessimistic  doubts, 
soon  resolved  in  the  flowing  lyric  measures 
w^hich  ensue.  The  shadow  of  Schumann  hov- 
ers here  on  brooding  wings ;  yet  another 
theme  presents  itself  in  A  flat  for  the  muted 
violins,  with  a  zephyr-like  accompaniment 
from  the  piano.  Pastoral  is  the  effect  and 
plangent  the  rippling  arpeggi.  This  theme 
leads  off  in  the  development  with  the  profile 
only  of  the  triplets  of  the  intermezzo  preced- 
ing. The  piano  part  bursts  in  with  octaves, 
and    is   singularly    rich    and    vigorous.     This 

I  lO 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

reprise  is  full  of  learning  and  boldness  of 
handling.  I  like  the  way  the  second  theme 
reappears  in  B  flat,  although  tonalities 
throughout  are  constantly  shifting,  and  a  har- 
monic haze,  a  blur  of  color,  is  often  the  only 
picture  presented.  The  cadenza  toward  the 
close  of  the  movement  is  more  than  three 
pages,  and  starts  off  in  G  flat,  sounding  sus- 
piciously like  the  cadenza  in  Rubinstein's 
D  minor  con-certo.  The  finale  is  very  im- 
pressive. The  second  movement  in  D  flat 
is  exquisite ;  a  melting,  amorous  nocturne, 
charged  with  the  soft  languors  of  a  summer 
night  in  Russia.  There  is  atmosphere  and 
there  is  a  beloved  one  being  sung  to.  The 
prestissimo,  a  fairy  scherzo,  with  dancing, 
delicate  shapes,  all  disporting  themselves  to 
a  vague  valse  tune  that  must  have  been 
born  on  the  Danube.  This  section  has  been 
charged  with  being  commonplace,  but  a 
clever  concert  master  can  with  a  pencil  stroke 
give  the  bowing  and  rhythm  the  distinction  it 
needs.  Yes,  Tschaikowsky  could  be  distract- 
ingly  banal ;  he  could  add  the  two  of  loveli- 
ness to  the  two  of  vulgar  and  make  the  sum 
five  instead  of  four. 

The  andantino  semplice  ends  serenely ;  and 
the  Allegro  con  fuoco  which  follows  is  Russian 
in  its  insistent,  irritable  hammering  accent  on 
III 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

the  second  beat  of  the  bar.  You  can't  help 
being  carried  away  by  the  swing  of  it  all,  and 
the  gay  second  subject  relieves  the  drastic 
note  at  the  beginning.  All  goes  bravely, 
another  subject  appearing  in  Schumannish 
figuration.  A  dazzling  movement  this.  Joseffy 
has  altered  the  three  pages  of  what  he  calls 
"  Czerny  unisons,"  and  made  the  passage 
work  more  modern.  The  finale  is  thundering. 
This  B  flat  minor  concerto  is,  after  all,  Tschai- 
kowsky  at  his  best  on  the  piano.  His  melo- 
dies are  sweet,  for  the  most  part  sane,  and 
there  is  a  sense  of  restless  power  sufiusing 
the  entire  composition.  It  will  stand  as  one 
of  his  representative  efforts. 

Let  us,  O  weary  sister,  O  bored  brother ! 
take  up  our  staff  and  again  wander  down  this 
flower  and  fungi-dotted  path  of  opus  land. 
Op.  24  is  our  next  number,  and  is  the  opera 
Eugene  Oneguine,  or  Jewgeny  Onegin. 
This  was  produced  in  St.  Petersburg  in  1879. 
It  never  proved  a  success,  although  trans- 
planted in  various  countries.  The  mazourka 
and  valse  are  familiar,  and  the  polonaise  in  G 
has  been  arranged  by  Liszt  for  concert.  It 
is  sonorous  and  pompous,  but  for  me  rather 
empty.  The  lyric  theme  or  trio  is  common- 
place. Upon  the  opera  as  a  whole  I  can  pass 
no  judgment,  not  having  a  score.  Op.  25, 
112 


A   MODERN    MUSIC    LORD 

more  romances,  six  for  voice ;  op.  26  is  the 
Serenade  Melancholique,  for  violin ;  op.  27, 
six  romances  for  voice;  op.  28,  seven  more; 
op.  29,  the_  third  symphony  in  D,  a  further 
step  in  power  and  variety  in  this  form.  The 
first  movement  is  beautiful  music.  The  in- 
troduction in  D  minor  hardly  presages  the 
brilliant  allegro  with  its  clear  cut  and  animated 
figure.  This  theme  is  martial  in  character,  a 
charming  second  subject  being  announced  by 
the  oboes.  The  movement  is  concise  and 
shows  an  increased  mastery  in  form.  The 
second  movement,  an  alia  tedesco  in  B  flat, 
is  sweet  and  quaint  but  hardly  belongs  to  a 
symphony.  The  andante  comes  next,  in  D 
minor,  it  is  short  and  elegiac  and  seems  better 
suited  to  a  suite.  This  idea  is  further  intensi- 
fied when  you  are  confronted  by  a  fourth 
movement  in  B  minor  and  a  finale  in  D.  Five 
short  movements  do  not  make  a  symphony, 
for  there  is  neither  unity  of  thought  nor 
tonality  in  the  work ;  not  so  pregnant  a  com- 
position as  the  second  essay  in  the  symphonic 
form. 

Op.  30  is  the  third  string  quartet;  op.  31 
is  the  delightfully  fresh  M^che  Slave  for 
orchestra,  which  we  have  so  often  admired  in 
the  concert  room  ;  op.  32  brings  us  to  the 
Tschaikowsky  we  all  feel  is  great,  for  it  is 
8  113 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

the  overture -fantaisie  .  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
surcharged  with  the  woe,  the  passion  of  the 
guilty  pair  who  forgot  that  day  to  read  their 
book,  and  so  were  slain,  and  were  seen  by 
Dante  and  the  Shade  of  Virgil  as  their  thin 
souls  mounted  in  the  spiral  of  sin  and  shame 
and  in  the  stormy  blasts  of  hell. 

Not    as    often    heard    as    the    Romeo    and 
Juliet,  I  nevertheless  prefer  it. 

The  Variations  "  Sur  un  air  rococo,"  for 
'cello  and  orchestra,  op,  33,  are  excellently 
written,  very  ingenious  and  very  difficult.  Op. 
34  is  a  scherzo-valse  for  violin  and  orchestra, 
and  op.  35  the  concerto  in  D  for  the  same 
instrument.  This  has  been  heard  here  several 
times.  It  is  romantic  in  feeling  and  a  very 
interesting  work,  although  by  no  means  a 
masterpiece.  Op.  36  is  the  fourth  symphony 
in  F  minor,  a  symphony  that  only  falls  short 
of  being  as  great  as  the  fifth  and  sixth.  It 
is  like  all  of  his  symphonies;  loosely  put 
together  but  certainly  more  homogeneous 
than  the  last  one.  The  first  strong,  sombre 
movement,  the  andantino  di  modo  canzona, 
the  scherzo  pizzicato  ostinato  and  the  harsh 
and  sweeping  finale  are  all  fine  imaginative 
mood  pictures.  There  is  the  melancholy,  the 
droning  lament,  the  feverish  burliness  of  the 
Russian  poet,  the  Russian  peasant.  The 
114 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

scherzo  is  like  a  winged  projectile.  I  shall 
speak  of  it  again. 

Op.  37,  the  only  piano  sonata  of  Tschaikow- 
sky,  deserves  resurrection.  Its  great  length, 
fifty  pages,  has  kept  it  in  the  libraries 
of  pianists.  Doubtless  Karl  Klindworth,  to 
whom  it  is  dedicated,  plays  it.  Its  opening 
is  rudely  vigorous,  while  a  counter  theme  in 
G  minor  is  a  blending  of  Chopin  and  Mendels- 
sohn ;  diffuseness  follows,  lack  of  cohesive- 
ness  being  the  gravest  fault  of  the  work. 
Here,  as  in  most  of  the  piano  music,  the 
thought  is  orchestral,  and  is  writ  large  for 
orchestra.  There  is  more  simplicity  in  the 
E  minor  andante,  and  for  a  time  the  idiom 
is  of  the  piano.  The  scherzo  is  the  Tschai- 
kowsky  of  the  merry  mood,  the  waggish 
humor.  He  plays  jokes  throughout.  The 
finale  is  all  hammer  and  tongs.  In  a  foot 
note  the  composer  humbly  suggests  the 
correct  use  of  the  pedal,  knowing  that  color, 
atmosphere,  perspective  are  the  very  essen- 
tials of  his  piano  music. 

Six  pieces  for  singing,  as  they  call  them, 
mark  op.  38,  the  first  being  that  devilish  and 
rollicking  and  saturnine  serenade  of  Don 
Juan  m  B  minor,  the  text  by  Tolstoy.  He 
sings  to  his  love  on  the  balcony.  In  the 
accents  of  a  sinister  Bravo  he  bids  her  from 
115 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

behind  the  lattice,  and  there  is  fear  and 
cynicism  in  this  wonderful  song,  so  full  of  fire 
and  the  melancholy  of  a  foredoomed  soul. 
A  great  song,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
night  Edouard  de  Rcszke  sang  it,  with  its 
growling  piano  ritornello.  It  sounded  satanic. 
Op.  39,  to  pick  up  the  arithmetical  thread, 
is  the  Piano  Album  for  Children,  and  con- 
tains just  two  dozen  little  pieces  fit  for  the 
soft  fingers  of  babyhood,  except  where  a 
stretch  wanders  in,  that  would  tax  an  or- 
ganist's thumb.  Op.  40  is  another  collection 
of  pieces,  twelve  in  all,  of  medium  difficulty. 
The  Chanson  Triste  is  familiar.  Op.  41  is 
a  Messe  Russe  for  four  voices,  with  organ 
and  piano ;  op.  42  is  for  violin  and  piano. 
Souvenir  d'un  lieu  cher  ;  op.  43  is  the 
first  orchestral  suite,  and  op.  44  the  second 
concerto  for  piano  and  orchestra  in  G.  This 
latter  is  dedicated  to  Nicolas  Rubinstein,  and 
the  first  time  I  heard  it  played  in  public  was 
at  the  Philharmonic  festival  in  1892  at  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House,  under  Anton  Seidl, 
Franz  Rummel  was  the  pianist,  and  even  he, 
iron-handed  as  he  was,  had  to  make  abundant 
cuts.  The  work,  as  I  recollect  it,  is  more 
closely  knit  in  texture  than  the  first  of  its 
form,  and  is  more  musical,  more  imaginative, 
if  less  brilliant  and  showy.  It  will  figure  on 
116 


A  MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

the  programmes  of  the  twentieth  century  vir- 
tuoso. The  pianists  of  to-day  refer  to  it  as  a 
symphony  with  piano  obbh'gato.  It  has  since 
been  played  here  by  Siloti.  The  last  move- 
ment is  the  most  Russian,  the  second  being 
an  exquisite  pastoral,  while  the  opening 
allegro  is  rhythmically  noble  and  broadly 
eloquent. 

There  is  no  uncertainty  in  the  ring  of  its 
first  theme,  a  theme  of  sonorous  nobility  and 
virile  assertiveness.  The  man  who  made  such 
a  theme  has  the  blood  of  musical  giants  in 
his  veins,  peradventure  the  blood  is  a  bit 
crossed  with  a  Calmuck  strain.  The  first 
movement  is  admirably  developed,  and  the 
orchestra  and  piano  have  it  out  hammer  and 
tongs  fashion,  the  piano  getting  the  better  of 
the  situation,  particularly  in  the  tremendous 
cadenza  set  in  a  decidedly  unconventional 
place  in  the  movement.  The  second  move- 
ment contains  some  lovely  writing,  and  the 
piano  has  to  concede  to  the  violin  a  solo  of 
charming  interest,  although  it  later  takes  its 
revenge  by  playing  the  melody  har.iionically 
amplified.     But  the  work  is  much  too  long. 

Op.  45    is    the   Capriccio    Italien,  for    or- 
chestra, of  which  I  once  wrote :   It  is  Russian 
icicles  melted  into  fantastic  shapes  by  Nea- 
politan   fire    and    terpsichorean    fury.      The 
117 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Russian  loves  to  dream  of  the  South.  Even 
Heine  wrote  "  Ein  Fichtenbaum  steht  einsam." 
Philip  Hale  says  that  there  are  in  it  "  pas- 
sages needlessly  and  ineffectively  vulgar."  I 
accept  his  later  judgment,  for  when  I  heard 
the  piece  I  was  color  mad,  and  in  those  days 
I  loved  any  color  so  it  was  red  or  purple.  Op 
46,  six  vocal  duos;  op.  47,  seven  romances 
for  voice  and  piano ;  op.  48,  the  serenade,  for 
strings ;  op.  49,  the  Overture  Solennelle,  bet- 
ter known  as  "  1812,"  an  impossible  and  noisy 
overture ;  op.  50  is  the  lovely  trio  in  A  minor 
for  piano  and  strings,  written  to  commem- 
orate the  death  of  Nicolas  Rubinstein,  who 
was  a  near  friend  of  Tschaikowsky.  It  is  a 
true  elegy. 

Op.  5 1  contains  six  piano  pieces,  valse, 
polka,  minuetto,  valse,  romance  and  a  valse 
sentimentale  ;  op.  52  is  another  Russian  mass 
for  four  voices,  and  op.  53  is  the  second  suite 
for  orchestra;  op.  54  is  another  collection  ot 
songs,  sixteen  in  number,  and  for  youth ;  op. 
55  is  the  third  and  most  popular  suite  for 
orchestra,  the  theme  and  variations  of  which 
are  heard  nearly  every  season.  The  finale- 
polonaise  of  these  is  most  brilliant;  op.  56  is 
that  tremendously  difficult  and  long  fantasie 
for  piano  and  orchestra,  written  for  Annette 
Essipoff,  and  played  here  by  Julia  Rive-King. 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

I  forget  how  many  bars  the  cadenza  contains, 
but  it  is  so  long  that  the  audience  is  apt  to 
forget  there  is  an  orchestra.  Yet  the  themes 
are  fresh,  the  execution  in  TschaTkowsky's 
most  virile  vein,  and  if  the  cadenza  were  cut 
or  omitted  the  fantasie  would  certainly  be 
heard  oftener,  especially  as  the  orchestra  is  so 
eloquent  and  entertaining.  But  who  will  play 
the  surgeon? 


IV 

We  are  now  in  the  very  thick  of  the  fight 
of  the  fierce  battle  waged  by  Tschaikowsky 
for  his  ideals.  To  know  the  complexion  of 
his  soul  you  must  study  his  orchestral  works, 
and  after  his  op.  57,  six  Lieder,  comes  the 
noble  Manfred  symphony,  op.  58.  If  I 
had  a  spark  of  the  true  critic  in  my  veins 
I  would  be  able  to  give  the  dates  of  the  per- 
formances of  this  —  to  use  a  banal  expres- 
sion—  inspired  work.  But  I  am  not  a  handy 
man  at  figures  of  any  sort,  and  indeed  barely 
remember  the  composition  except  as  a  mag- 
nificent picture  in  poignant  tones,  Manfred 
seeking  forgetfulness  of  his  lost  Astarte  in  the 
mountains,  the  Witch  of  the  Alps ;  and  after 
a  wonderful  sketch  of  the  Alps,  with  the 
piercing  blue  above  the  calm,  a  ranz  des 
119 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

vaches  not  at  all  in  the  Rossinian  manner,  the 
death  of  Manfred,  and  the  maddening  tonal 
debaucheries  in  the  hall  of  Arimanes.  Here 
is  our  Tscha'ikovvsky  at  his  top  notch ;  the 
temper  of  the  man  showing  out  clear  and 
poetic  and  dramatic  to  all  extremes.  The 
passion  of  life  and  its  folly  are  proclaimed  by 
a  master  pessimist  who  from  his  birth  was 
sacrificed  to  those  three  dread  sisters  told 
of  by  De  Ouincey.  A  most  moving  and  agi- 
tated tale,  and  one  that  almost  shakes  your 
belief  in  the  universe.  No  joy  of  life  here 
but  a  morbid  brooding,  a  mood  of  doubt  and 
darkness.  There  are  desperate  moments  in 
the  music,  and  Manfred's  naked  soul  stands 
before  us.  The  finale,  with  its  sweeping 
melos,  accompanied  by  the  organ,  is  most 
melancholy,  but  not  without  a  gleam  of  hope. 
Tschafkowsky  is  a  poet  who  sometimes 
prophesies. 

Op.  59  is  a  Doumka,  a  rustic  Russian 
scene  for  piano  solo.  Op.  6o  consists  of  a 
dozen  romances  for  voice,  and  op.  6i  is  the 
delightful  fourth  orchestral  suite,  Mozar- 
teana,  in  which  Tschafkowsky  testified  in  a 
lively  manner  to  his  love  for  Mozart.  He  has 
utilized  the  Ave  Verum  in  a  striking  way, 
and  not  even  Gounod  himself  was  ever  so 
saturated  with  the   Mozartean  feeling  as  the 

I20 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

Russian  composer  in  this  suite.     It  is  a  great 
favorite. 

The  Pezzo  Capriccioso  is  numbered  op. 
62  and  is  for  violoncello,  with  orchestral  ac- 
companiment. It  is  as  wayward  and  Slavic 
as  anything  Tschaikowsky  ever  wrote,  ending 
in  mid  air,  as  is  occasionally  his  wont.  More 
songs  comprise  op.  6^,  and  the  opus  that^ 
follows,  64,  is  the  fifth  symphony  in  E  minor."" 
It  is  the  most  Russian  of  all  his  symphonies 
and  its  basis  is  undoubtedly  composed  of 
folksongs.  Its  pregnant  motto  in  the  andante, 
which  is  intoned  by  the  clarinets,  is  sombre, 
world  weary,  and  in  the  allegro  the  theme, 
while  livelier  and  evidently  bucolic,  is  not 
without  its  sardonic  tinge.  The  entire  first 
movement  is  masterly  in  its  management  of 
the  variation,  the  episodical  matter,  the  various 
permutations  in  the  Durchfuhrung  all  being 
weighed  to  the  note  and  every  note  a  telling 
one.  Not  themes  for  a  symphony  in  the 
classic  sense,  Dvorak  thinks,  yet  not  without 
power,  if  lacking  in  nobility  and  elevation 
of  character.  But  what  an  impassioned  ro- 
mance the  French  horn  sings  in  the  second 
movement !  It  is  the  very  apotheosis  of  a 
night  of  nightingales,  soft  and  seldom  footed 
dells,  a  soft  moon  and  dreaming  tree-leaves. 
Its  tune  sinks  a  shaft  into  your  heart  and 
121 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

hot  from  your  heart  comes  a  response ;  the 
horizon  is  low,  heaven  is  near  earth  and 
carking  life  beyond,  forgotten  in  the  fringes 
and  shadows.  Some  pages  of  perfect  writing 
follow;  the  oboe  and  the  horn  in  tender 
converse,  and  you  can  never  forget  those 
first  six  bars ;  all  youth,  all  love  is  clamoring 
in  them. 

How  that  slow  valse,  with  its  lugubrious 
bassoon  and  its  capering  violins  in  the  trio, 
affects  one !  A  sorrowful  jesting,  quite  in 
the  Russian  style.  It  is  a  country  where 
the  peasants  tell  a  joke  with  the  tears  stream- 
ing down  their  faces  and  if  the  vodka  is 
sufficiently  fiery,  will  dance  at  a  funeral. 
The  clatter  and  swirl  of  the  finale  is  deafen- 
ing, the  motto  in  the  major  key  is  sounded 
shrill,  and  through  the  movement  there  is 
noise  and  confusion,  a  hurly-burly  of  peas- 
ants thumping  their  wooden  shoes  and  yell- 
ing like  drunken  maniacs.  All  the  romance, 
all  the  world-weariness  has  fled  to  covert, 
and  the  composer  is  at  his  worst  with  the 
seven  devils  he  has  brought  to  his  newly 
garnished  mansion.  It  is  this  shocking  want 
of  taste  that  offends  his  warmest  admirers, 
and  his  skill  in  painting  revelries  is  more 
accentuated  than  Hogarth's.  Certainly  you 
can  never  affix  the  moral  tag. 

122 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

Tschaikowsky  is  often  possessed  by  these 
devils,  and  then  the  whole  apparatus  of  his 
orchestra  is  shivered  and  shaken.  His  chro- 
matic contrapuntal  scales  on  the  heavy  brass, 
his  middle  voices  never  at  peace,  the  whir 
and  rush  of  the  fiddles  and  the  drumming 
and  clash  of  cymbals  are  the  outward  evi- 
dence of  the  unquiet  Calmuck  man  beneath 
the  skin  of  Peter  Ilyitch.  That  he  can  say 
obscure  things  I  am  willing  to  swear,  and  his 
neurotic  energy  is  tremendous.  This  fifth 
symphony  has  its  weak  points;  structurally 
it  is  not  strong,  and  the  substitution  of  the 
valse  for  the  familiar  scherzo  is  not  defensible 
in  the  eyes  of  the  formalists.  But  there  are 
moments  of  pure  beauty,  and  the  mixing  of 
hues,  despite  the  Asiatic  violence,  is  deft  and 
to  the  ear  bewildering  and  bewitching. 

Just  here  I  should  like  to  make  a  digres- 
sion and  examine  more  fully  the  predecessor 
of  the  symphony  in  E  minor,  the  fourth  in 
F  minor.  In  symmetry,  beauty  of  musical 
ideas,  suavity,  indeed  in  general  workman- 
ship, it  is  not  always  the  equal  of  the  fifth 
symphonic  work,  but  in  one  instance  this 
may  be  qualified:  The  first  movement  is 
full  of  abounding  passion,  is  more  fluent 
in  expression  than  the  first  allegro  of  the  fifth 
symphony. 

123 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

The  theme  in  the  introduction  of  the  F 
minor  symphony  bears  a  strong  resemblance 
to  the  opening  of  Schumann's  B  flat  sym- 
phony, but  not  in  rhythm.  It  is  used  in 
several  movements  later  as  a  sort  of  leading 
motive  or  perhaps  to  give  an  impression  of 
organic  unity.  The  theme  proper  is  ro- 
mantic in  the  extreme  and  charged  to  the 
full  with  passion  and  suspense.  The  halting, 
syncopated  phrases,  the  dramatic  intensity, 
the  whirl  of  colors,  moods  and  situations  are 
all  characteristic. 

The  episode  which  follows  the  principal 
theme  can  hardly  be  called  a  theme;  it  is 
a  bridge,  a  transition  to  the  second  subject. 
Tschaikowsky  can  sometimes  be  very  Gallic, 
for  Gounod  is  suggested  —  a  phrase  from  the 
tomb  music  in  Romeo  et  Juliette  —  but  is 
momentary.  Musically  this  first  movement 
is  the  best  of  the  four,  more  naive,  full  of 
abandon  and  blood-stirring  episodes. 

The  second  movement  in  B  flat  minor, 
andantino  in  modo  di  canzona,  is  a  tender,  sad 
little  melody  in  eighth  notes,  embroidered  by 
runs  in  the  woodwind  —  Cossack  counter- 
point. It  has  a  sense  of  remoteness  and 
dreary  resignation.  It  is  uncompromisingly 
Slavic.  It  is  said  to  be  the  actual  transcrip- 
tion of  a  Russian  bargeman's  refrain.  This 
124 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

is  treated  in  a  variant  fashion  —  the  second 
subsidiary  in  A  flat  being  delivered  by  clari- 
nets and  fagottes,  a  middle  part  piu  mosso 
in  F,  the  whole  concluding  with  the  fagotto 
intoning  the  first  melody.  Sombre  it  is  and 
not  the  equal  in  romantic  beauty  of  the  lull- 
ing horn  solo  in  the  slow  movement  of  the 
E  minor  symphony. 

The  scherzo  allegro  in  F,  plucked  by  the 
string  choir,  is  deficient  in  musical  depth, 
but  its  novel  workmanship  fixes  one's  atten- 
tion. It  is  called  a  pizzicato  ostinato,  al- 
though the  pizzicati  are  not  continuous.  It 
is  full  of  a  grim  sort  of  humor,  and  the 
trio  for  woodwind,  oboes  and  fagottes  is  rol- 
licking and  pastoral.  The  third  theme  — - 
smothered  staccato  chords  for  brass  with 
sinister  drum  taps  —  is  thoroughly  original 
and  reminds  us  of  the  entrance  of  Fortinbras 
in  the  composer's  Hamlet.  The  working 
out  is  slim  but  clever. 

The  last  movement  in  F  is  a  triumph  of 
constructive  skill,  for  it  is  literally  built  on  an 
unpretentious  phrase  of  a  measure  and  a  half. 
It  is  all  noisy,  brilliant,  interesting,  but  not 
of  necessity  symphonic.  The  main  theme, 
almost  interminably  varied,  is  not  new.  It 
may  be  found  in  a  baritone  solo,  Mozart's 
Escape  from  the  Seraglio,  and  in  a  slightly 
125 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

transformed  shape  it  lurks  in  the  romanza  of 
Schumann's  Faschingschwank  aus  W'ien. 
Tschaikowsky's  wonderful  contrapuntal  skill 
and  piquancy  of  orchestration  invest  this 
finale  with  meaning. 

Western  ears  are  sometimes  sadly  tried  by 
the  uncouth  harmonic  progressions  and  by 
the  savagery  of  the  moods  of  this  symphony. 
Symphony  perhaps  in  the  narrow  meaning  of 
the  term  it  is  not.  A  wordless  music  drama 
it  could  be  better  styled.  All  the  keen,  poig- 
nant feeling,  the  rapidity  of  incident,  the 
cumulative  horror  of  some  mighty  drama  of 
the  soul,  with  its  changeful  coloring  and 
superb  climax  are  here  set  forth  and  sung  by 
the  various  instruments  of  the  orchestra,  which 
assumes  the  role  of  the  personages  in  this 
unspoken  tragedy. 

How  intensely  eloquent  in  this  form  is 
Tschaikowsky,  and  what  a  wondrous  art  it  is 
that  out  of  the  windless  air  of  the  concert 
room  can  weave  such  epical  sorrow,  joy,  love 
and  madness  ! 

Op.  65  brings  us  to  six  romances  for  voice 
and  piano,  and  op.  66  the  ballet  of  La  Belle 
au  Bois  Dormant.  Op.  6y  is  the  Hamlet 
overture  fantaisie,  which  evidently  finds  its 
form  in  Wagner's  unsurpassable  Eine  Faust 
overture.  It  is  remarkable  in  that  it  begins 
126 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

in  A  minor  and  closes  in  F  minor.  There 
seems  to  be  little  attempt  to  paint  the  con- 
ventional Hamlet  mood,  the  mood  of  atrabili- 
ary  sluggishness  and  frenetic  intellection,  but 
rather  hints  of  the  bloody  side  of  Shake- 
speare's purple  melodrama.  In  it  stalks  the 
apparition,  and  the  witching  hour  of  midnight 
booms  to  the  bitter  end.  There  is  the  pa- 
thetic lunacy  of  Ophelia  —  a  lovely  theme 
limns  her  —  and  there  is  turmoil  and  fretting 
of  spirit.  At  the  close  I  am  pleased  to  imag- 
ine the  figure  of  Fortinbras  thinly  etched  by 
staccato  brass  and  the  rest,  that  is  silence  to 
the  noble  spirit  who  o'ercrowed  himself,  is 
sounded  in  thunder  that  may  be  heard  in  the 
hollow  hills.  It  is  not  Tschai'kowsky's  most 
masterly  effort  in  the  form,  but  it  is  masterly 
withal,  and  its  mastery  is  mixed  with  the  alloy 
of  the  sensational. 

Op.  68  is  an  opera  in  three  acts,  La  Dame 
de  Pique ;  op.  69,  Yolande,  opera  in  one 
act;  op.  70,  the  lovely  Souvenir  de  Flor- 
ence, a  sextuor  for  t^vo  violins,  two  altos  and 
two  'celli.  It  is  Tschai'kowsky  at  his  hap- 
piest and  he  makes  simple  strings  vibrate 
with  more  colors  than  the  rainbow.  Op.  71 
is  Casse-Noisette,  a  two-act  ballet,  a  suite 
that  has  often  been  played  here.  It  is 
dainty,  piquant  and  bizarre.  Op.  ^2  consists 
127 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

of  eighteen  pieces  for  piano  solo,  variously 
called  Impromptu,  Berceuse,  Tendres  Re- 
proches,  Danse  Caiacteristique,  Meditation, 
Mazurque  pour  Danser,  Polacca  de  Concert, 
Dialogue,  Un  Poco  di  Schumann,  Scherzo 
Fantaisie,  Valse  Bluette,  L'Espiegle,  Echo 
Rustique,  Chant  Elegiaque,  Un  Poco  di 
Chopin,  Valse  a  Cinqtemps,  Passe  Lointan 
and  Scene  Dansante,  which  last  bears  the 
sub-title  of  Invitation  au  Trepak. 

These  pieces  are  of  value  ;  many  are  grace- 
ful and  suitable  for  the  salon.  The  polacca 
and  the  scherzo  are  more  pretentious  and 
might  be  played  in  public.  The  imitations  of 
Schumann  and  Chopin  are  clever.  It  must 
be  confessed,  however,  that  Tschaikowsky 
often  bundles  the  commonplace  and  the 
graceful  and  does  not  write  agreeably  for  the 
piano.  Rubinstein  surpassed  him  in  this  re- 
spect. There  is  always  a  certain  want  of 
sympathy  for  the  technical  exigencies  of  the 
instryment  and  the  suavely  facile  and  the 
bristling  difficult  are  often  contiguous.  There 
is  no  mistaking  Tscha'ikowsky's  handiwork  in 
these  pieces,  the  longest  of  which,  the 
scherzo,  is  twenty-one  pages  and  quite  trying. 
The  most  brilliant  is  the  polacca. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  composer 
must  have  boiled  numerous  pots  with  his 
128 


A   AIODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

piano  pieces,  many  of  them  are  so  trivial,  so 
artificial  and  vapid.  Op.  ^l  is  six  melo- 
dies for  .voice,  and  in  the?5e  are  four  vocal 
romances  without  opus  number.  I  have 
not  said  much  about  the  songs,  although 
they  are  Tschai'kowsky's  richest  lyric  offer- 
ings. Some  are  redolent  of  the  sentimen- 
tality of  the  salon,  but  there  are  a  few  that 
are  masterpieces  in  miniature.  Pourquoi, 
words  by  Heine,  in  German  Warum  sind 
denn  die  Rosen  so  Blass?  is  popular,  not 
without  justice,  while  Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht 
Kennt  is  fit  to  keep  company  with  the 
best  songs  of  Schubert,  Schumann,  Franz 
and  Brahms.  In  intensity  of  feeling  and  in 
the  repressed  tragic  note  this  song  has  few 
peers.  It  is  a  microcosm  of  the  whole  Ro- 
mantic movement. 

Among  the  unclassified  works  I  find  a  can- 
tata with  Russian  words,  three  choruses  of  the 
Russian  Church,  the  choruses  of  Bortiansky, 
revised  and  annotated  by  Tschaikowsky  in 
nine  volumes ;  an  Ave  Maria  for  mezzo 
soprano  or  baritone,  with  piano  or  organ 
accompaniment;  Le  Caprice  D'Oksane,  op- 
era in  four  acts;  Jeanne  D'Arc,  opera 
in  four  acts  and  six  tableaux ;  Mazeppa, 
opera  in  three  acts ;  La  Tscharodeika,  La 
Magicienne  ou  la  Charmeuse,  opera  in  four 
9  129 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

acts,  and  Hamlet  — the  overture  I  have 
already  spoken  of,  —  which  consists  of  over- 
ture, melodrames,  marches  and  entr'acts, 
regular  music  for  the  play.  Then  there  is 
the  Mouvement  Perp^tuel,  from  Weber's 
C  major  sonata,  arranged  for  the  left  hand  — 
Brahms  has  had  an  imitator  —  and  an  im- 
promptu caprice  for  piano.  Tschaikowsky 
has  also  made  a  Manual  of  Harmony  in 
Russian.  The  richness  and  variety  of  this 
composer's  music  is  remarkable.  Not  coming 
into  the  world  with  any  especially  novel  word 
to  speak  or  doctrine  to  expound,  he  never- 
theless has  been  gladly  heard  for  his  sin- 
cerity —  a  tremendous  sincerity  —  and  his 
passionate,  almost  crazy  intensity.  If  you 
were  to  ask  me  his  chief  quality  I  should 
not  speak  of  his  scholarship,  which  is  pro- 
found enough,  nor  of  his  charm,  nor  of  the 
originality  of  his  tunes,  but  upon  his  great, 
his  overwhelming  temperament  —  his  almost 
savage,  sensual,  morbid,  half  mad  musical 
temperament  —  I  should  insist,  for  it  is  his 
dominant  note ;  it  suffuses  every  bar  he 
has  written,  and  even  overflows  his  most 
effortless  production. 

The  history  of  the  symphonic  Ballade  called 
Voy^vode    is    interesting.      In    1891    Tscha'f- 
kowsky  gave   the  work  a  rehearsal  and,  not 
130 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

liking  it,  tossed  the  score  into  the  fire.  It 
was  rescued  in  a  semi-charred  condition  by 
his  pupil,  Siloti,  the  pianist.  It  has  no  opus 
number,  but  through  internal  evidence  it  may 
safely  be  called  an  early  and  immature  work 
of  the  composer.  This  ballade,  with  its  crude 
realism,  its  weakness  in  thematic  material  and 
above  all  its  imitative  instrumentation,  strong- 
ly savoring  of  Wagner,  may  be  classed  as  a 
youthful  sketch  worked  over.  The  pro- 
gramme is  a  dramatic  one.  The  music  at- 
tempts to  depict  the  jealousy  of  a  chieftain, 
who,  finding  his  young  wife  in  the  arms  of 
another,  shoots  her.  But  the  bullet  never 
reaches  her  heart,  for  the  servant  he  has 
commanded  to  fire  on  the  lover  misses  his 
aim — purposely  perhaps  —  and  the  Voyevode 
is  killed  instead.  The  poem  is  by  Pushkin. 
Tschaikowsky  has  succeeded  in  writing  a 
vigorous,  even  rough,  dramatic  episode,  in 
which  the  galloping  of  the  chieftain's  horse 
as  he  returns  from  the  war,  the  amorous  scene 
in  the  garden  and  the  catastrophe  are  all 
fairly  well  pictured.  Melodramatic  is  the 
word  that  best  describes  this  music,  which 
contains  in  solution  many  of  Tschaikowsky 's 
most  admirable  characteristics.  The  bassoon 
is  heard,  with  its  sinister  chuckle,  and  there 
is  a  richness  of  fancy  and  warmth  of  color  in 
131 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

the  love  music,  sensuous  and  sweet,  but  lack- 
ing in  distinction,  that  we  look  for  in  this 
master.  The  sharp  staccato  chord  that  sym- 
bolizes shooting  is  sensational.  The  close  is 
evidently  suggested  by  Siegfried's  Funeral 
March.  The  garden  music  is  from  the  second 
act  of  Tristan  and  Isolde.  Indeed,  Wagner 
is  continually  hinted  at  in  the  orchestration. 
Tschaikowsky's  freedom  from  Wagner's  influ- 
ence, as  hitherto  evidenced  in  his  other  and 
more  important  works,  leads  us  to  surmise 
that  this  is  the  effort  of  a  beginner.  It  has 
historical  interest  and  shows  us  the  dramatic 
trend  of  the  Russian's  mind,  but  as  absolute 
music  it  is  not  many  degrees  removed  from 
the  barbaric  "  1812"  overture  solennelle.  It 
was  first  played  here  in  the  autumn  of  1897 
by  the  Symphony  Society  under  Mr.  Walter 
Damrosch. 

I  still  have  left  for  review  the  Rom6o  et 
Juliette  overture-fantaisie  without  opus  num- 
ber, the  sixth  symphony,  op.  74,  in  B  minor, 
and  the  third  piano' concerto  in  E  flat,  op.  75. 
The  Jurgenson  catalogue  goes  no  further  than 
op.  74,  so  the  piano  concerto  is  posthumous. 
An  unpublished  piano  nocturne  is  announced 
for  early  publication ;  that  ends  the  list. 


132 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 


V 

As  the  Romeo  et  Juliette  was  first  played 
here  in  1876  it  must  have  been  composed 
about  the  time  of  the  first  piano  concerto, 
perhaps  later.  It  is  evidently  a  work  of  the 
composer  in  the  first  gorgeous  outburst  of 
his  genius.  It  is  a  magnificent  love  poem, 
full  of  the  splendors  of  passion  and  warring 
hosts.  How  it  strikes  fire  from  the  first  firm 
chord !  Imperial  passion  flames  in  it,  and 
the  violins  mount  in  burning  octaves.  The 
Juliette  theme  is  sealed  with  the  pure  lips 
of  a  loving  maid  ;  but  I  will  spare  you  further 
rhapsodizing. 

The  third  piano  concerto,  like  Beethoven's 
fifth,  is  in  the  key  of  E  flat,  but  there  the 
resemblance  ends,  although  the  work  is  un- 
usually vigorous  and  built  on  a  theme  even 
shorter  than  the  one  used  in  the  B  flat  minor 
piano  concerto.  The  posthumous  concerto 
is  really  a  fantasy  for  piano  and  orchestra 
with  a  nine  page  cadenza  in  the  first  part. 
It  is  not  as  long  as  its  predecessors,  and  the 
subsidiary  themes  are  very  amiable  and  fetch- 
ing. I  should  dearly  love  to  hear  it  if  only 
for  the  orchestration,  hints  of  which  appear 
in  the  second  piano  part.  Fantastic  in  form, 
^33 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

it  has  one  rattling  good  theme  in  the  allegro 
molto  vivace,  a  theme  that  is  rhythmically 
related  to  one  in  Moniuszko's  opera,  Halka. 
It  is  very  Slavic,  very  piquant.  The  com- 
poser juggles  with  three  subjects,  and  the 
cadenza  is  utilized  as  a  working  out  section. 
This  is  extremely  florid,  possibly  made  so  to 
suit  the  style  of  Louis  Diemer,  to  whom  the 
concerto  is  dedicated.  The  last  movement 
is  a  more  brilliant  restatement  of  the  first 
themes,  and  the  song  motive,  this  time  in 
the  tonic  —  it  was  in  G  at  first  —  is  very  rich 
and  melodious.  The  coda,  a  vivacissimo,  is 
muscular  and  brief. 

As  far  as  the  piano  partition  may  be 
judged,  this  last,  composition  of  Tschaif- 
kowsky's  does  not  build,  neither  does  it  de- 
tract from  his  fame.  It  smells  a  little  of  the 
piece  made  to  order,  although  I  may  be  mis- 
taken in  this.  In  any  case  I  hope  someone 
will  play  it;  it  is  not  very  difficult  or  trying 
to  one's  endurance.  Its  technical  physiog- 
norny  resembles  that  of  its  brethren ;  there 
are  octaves,  chord  passages  in  rapid  flight 
and  there  are  many  scales;  rather  an  un- 
usual quantity  in  this  composer's  piano 
music.     The  cadenza  is  especially  brilliant. 

My  first  impression  of  the  sixth  sym- 
phony, the  "  Suicide,"  as  it  has  been  called, 
134 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD      ' 

has  never  been  altered ;  the  last  movement 
is  Tschaikowsky  at  his  greatest,  but  the  other 
movements  do  not  "hang"  together;  in  a 
word,  there  is  a  lack  of  organic  unity. 
Tschaikowsky  is  never  a  formalist.  He  works 
more  freely  in  the  loosely  built  s}-mphonic 
poem,  the  s}'mphonic  poem  born  of  Berlioz, 
although  fathered  by  Liszt.  Yet  we  look  for 
certain  specific  qualities  in  the  symphonic 
form,  and  one  of  them  is  homogeneity. 

Consider  this  last  symphony.  The  open- 
ing allegro  has  for  its  chief  subject  a  short 
phrase  in  B  minor,  a  rather  commonplace 
phrase,  a  phrase  with  an  upward  inflection, 
that  you  may  find  in  Mendelssohn  and  a  half 
dozen  other  classical  writers.  The  accent  is 
strong  to  harshness,  and  after  the  composer 
considers  that  he  has  sufficiently  impressed 
it  upon  your  memory  the  entrance  of  an  epi- 
sodical figure  leads  you  captive  to  the  second 
theme  in  D.  Here  is  the  romantic  Russian 
for  you  !  It  is  lovely,  sensuous,  suave.  It  is 
the  composer  in  his  most  melting  mood,  and 
is  the  feminine  complement  to  the  abrupt  mas- 
culinity of  the  first  subject.  Atop  of  it  we 
soon  get  some  dancing  rhythms  under  a  scale- 
like theme,  and  then  the  working  out  begins. 

The  second  subject  is  first  treated,  and 
this  is  followed  by  an  exposition  of  the  first 
135 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

subject,  and  in  thundering  tones  and  with 
all  the  harmonic  and  rhythmic  skill  the  com- 
poser knows  how  to  employ  so  well.  There 
is  constant  use  of  scales  for  contrapuntal 
purposes,  and  the  basses  shake  the  very  fir- 
mament. It  is  the  old  Tschaikowsky  — 
sombre,  dreary  and  savage.  The  mood  does 
not  last  long.  The  sky  lightens  with  a  return 
of  the  cantabile,  and  then  comes  the  schluss. 
This  is  wonderfully  made  and  very  effective. 
The  movement  ends  peacefully.  Its  color 
throughout  is  beautiful,  leaning  toward  the 
darker  tints  of  the  orchestral  palette. 

But  the  second  and  third  movements  are 
enigmas  to  me. 

Raff  introduced  a  gay  march  into  a  sym- 
phony, Beethoven  a  funeral  march  and  Tschai- 
kowsky penned  a  lugubrious  valse  for  his  fifth 
symphonic  work;  but  the  second  movement 
of  this  B  minor  symphony  is  in  five-four 
time  and  sounds  like  a  perverted  valse,  but 
one  that  could  not  be  danced  to  unless  you 
owned  three  legs.  It  is  delightfully  piquant 
music  and  the  touch  of  Oriental  color  in 
the  trio,  or  second  part  —  for  the  movement 
is  not  a  scherzo  —  produced  by  a  pedal 
point  on  D  is  very  felicitous.  The  third 
movement  starts  in  with  a  Mendelssohnian 
figure  in  triplets  and  scherzo-like,  but  this 
136 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

soon  merges  into  a  march.  The  ingenuity 
displayed  in  scoring,  the  pecuHar  and  re- 
curring accent,  which  again  suggests  the 
East,  helps  the  movement  to  escape  the 
commonplace. 

But  why  these  two  movements  in  a  sym- 
phony? They  are  episodical,  fragmentary 
and  seem  intended  for  a  suite.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  Tschaikowsky  has  only  given 
us  a  mosaic  —  has  made  a  short  rosary  of 
numbers  that  bear  no  active  relationship ! 
As  well  believe  this  as  strive  to  reconcile 
these  four  movements.  Dr.  Dvorak's  words 
return  with  peculiar  force  after  listening  to 
this  symphony.  "  Tschaikowsky  cannot  write 
a  symphony;   he  only  makes  suites." 

Therefore  the  most  tremendous  surprise 
follows  in  the  finale.  Since  the  music  of  the 
march  in  the  Eroica,  since  the  mighty 
funeral  music  in  Siegfried,  there  has  been 
no  such  death  music  as  this  "  adagio  lamen- 
toso,"  this  astounding  torso,  which  Michel 
Angelo  would  have  understood  and  Dante 
wept  over.  It  is  the  very  apotheosis  of  mor- 
tality, and  its  gloomy  accents,  poignant  melody 
and  harmonic  coloring  make  it  one  of  the 
most  impressive  of  contributions  to  mortuary 
music.  It  sings  of  the  entombment  of  a 
nation,  and  is  incomparably  noble,  dignified 
137 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

and  unspeakably  tender.  It  is  only  at  the 
close  that  the  rustling  of  the  basses  conveys  a 
sinister  shudder;  the  shudder  of  the  Dies  Irae 
when  the  heavens  shall  be  a  fiery  scroll  and  the 
sublime  trump  sound  its  summons  to  eternity. 

No  Richard  Strauss  realism  is  employed  to 
describe  the  halting  heart  beats;  no  gasps 
in  the  woodwind  to  indicate  the  departing 
breath;  no  imitative  figure  to  tell  us  that 
clods  of  earth  are  falling  heavily  on  the  in- 
visible coffin ;  but  the  atmosphere  of  grief, 
immutable,  eternal,  hovers  about  like  a  huge 
black-winged  angel. 

The  movement  is  the  last  word  in  the  pro- 
foundly pessimistic  philosophy  which  comes 
from  the  East  to  poison  and  embitter  the 
religious  hopes  of  the  West.  It  has  not  the 
consolations  of  Nirvana,  for  that  offers  us 
a  serene  non-existence,  an  absorption  into 
Neant.  Tschaikowsky's  music  is  a  page  torn 
from  Ecclesiastes,  it  is  the  cosmos  in  crape. 
This  movement  will  save  the  other  three 
from  oblivion.  The  scoring  throughout  is 
masterly. 

Whether  or  not  the  composer  had  a  premo- 
nition of  his  approaching  death  is  a  question 
I  gladly  leave  to  sentimental  psychojogists. 

Again  we    must   lament  the  death  of  the 
master.     What    might   his    ninth   symphony 
138 


A   MODERN   MUSIC   LORD 

not  have  been  !  He  was  slain  in  the  very 
plenitude  of  his  powers,  at  a  time  when 
to  his  glowing  temperament  vvas  added  a 
moderation  born  of  generous  cosmopolitan 
culture. 

Little  remains  to  be  added.  All  who  met 
Tscha'ikowsky  declare  that  he  was  a  polished, 
charming  man  of  the  world  ;  like  all  Russians, 
a  good  linguist,  and  many  sided  in  his  tastes. 
But  not  in  his  musical  taste.  He  disliked 
Brahms  heartily,  and  while  Brahms  appre- 
ciated his  music,  the  Russian  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  frankly  confessed  that  for 
him  the  Hamburg  composer  was  a  mere 
music-maker.  In  a  conversation  with  Henry 
Holden  Huss  he  praised  Saint-Saens,  and  then 
naively  admitted  that  it  was  a  pity  an  artist 
whose  facture  was  so  fine  had  so  little 
original  to  say.  He  reverenced  the  classics, 
Mozart  more  than  Beethoven,  and  had  an 
enormous  predilection  for  Berlioz,  Liszt  and 
Wagner.  This  was  quite  natural,  and  we 
find  Rubinstein,  with  whom  Tscha'ikowsky 
studied,  upbraiding  him  for  his  defection  from 
German  classic  standards.  Curiously  enough, 
Wagner  did  not  play  such  a  part  in  TschaT- 
kowsky's  music  as  one  might  imagine.  The 
Russian's  operaswere  made  after  old-fashioned 
models  and,  despite  his  lyric  and  dramatic 
139 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

talent,  have  never  proved  successful.  He 
dramatically  expressed  himself  best  in  the 
orchestra,  and  totally  lacked  Wagner's  power 
of  projecting  dramatic  images  upon  the 
stage. 

As  regards  the  suicide  story,  I  can  only 
repeat  that  while  it  has  been  officially  denied, 
it  has  never  been  quite  discredited.  Kapell- 
meister Wallner  of  St.  Petersburg,  a  relative 
by  marriage  of  Tolstoy,  and  an  intimate  of 
Tschaikowsky,  told  me  that  his  nearest  friends 
had  the  matter  hushed  up.  He  is  supposed 
to  have  died  of  cholera  after  drinking  a  glass 
of  unfiltered  water,  but  his  stomach  was  never 
subjected  to  chemical  analysis.  The  fact  that 
his  mother  died  of  the  same  malady  lent  color 
to  the  cholera  story.     It  is  all  very  sad. 

Tschaikowsky  lived,  was  unhappy,  com- 
posed and  died,  and  he  will  be  forgotten. 
Let  us  enjoy  him  while  we  may  and  until 
"  all  the  daughters  of  music  shall  be  brought 
low." 


140 


Ill 

RICHARD   STRAUSS    AND 
NIETZSCHE 

In  discussing  Richard  Strauss'  symphonic 
poem,  Also  Sprach  Zarathustra,  its  musi- 
cal, technical,  emotional  and  aesthetic  sig- 
nificance must  be  considered,  —  if  I  may 
be  allowed  this  rather  careless  grouping  of 
categories.  The  work  itself  is  fertile  in  arous' 
ing  ideas  of  a  widely  divergent  sort.  It  is 
difficult  to  speak  of  it  without  drifting  into 
the  dialectics  of  the  Nietzsche  school.  It  is 
as  absolute  music  that  it  should  be  critically 
weighed,  and  that  leads  into  the  somewhat 
forbidding  field  of  the  nature  of  thematic 
material.  Has  Strauss,  to  put  it  briefly,  a 
right,  a  precedent  to  express  himself  in 
music  in  a  manner  that  sets  at  defiance  the 
normal  eight  bar  theme;  that  scorns  eu- 
phony ;  that  follows  the  curve  of  the  poem 
or  drama  or  thesis  he  is  illustrating,  just  as 
Wagner  followed  the  curve  of  his  poetic 
text?  The  question  is  a  fascinating  one  and 
141 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

a  dangerous  one,  fascinating  because  of  its 
complexity,  and  also  because  any  argument 
that  attempts  to  define  the  Hmits  of  absolute 
music  is  an  argument  that  is  dangerous. 

Berlioz,  Liszt  and  Wagner,  three  heroes  of 
poetic  realism,  pushed  realism  to  the  verge  of 
the  ludicrous,  according  to  their  contempo- 
raries. Liszt  was  especially  singled  out  as 
the  champion  of  making  poems  in  music, 
making  pictures  in  music,  and  giving  no 
more  clue  to  their  meaning  than  the  title. 
Liszt's  three  great  disciples,  Saint-Saens, 
Tschaikowsky  and  Richard  Strauss,  have 
dared  more  than  their  master.  In  Saint- 
Saens  we  find  a  genial  cleverness  and  a 
mastery  of  the  decorative  and  more  super- 
ficial side  of  music  —  all  this  allied  to  a 
charming  fancy  and  great  musicianship.  Yet 
his  stories  deal  only  with  the  external  aspects 
of  his  subject.  Omphale  bids  Hercules  spin, 
and  the  orchestra  is  straightway  transformed 
into  a  huge  wheel  and  hums  as  the  giant 
stoops  over  the  distaff.  Death  dances  with 
rattling  xylophonic  bones ;  Phaeton  circles 
about  the  Sun  God,  and  we  hear  his  curved 
chariot  and  fervent  pace.  But  the  psy- 
chology is  absent.  We  learn  little  of  the 
thoughts  or  feelings  of  these  subjects,  and 
indeed  they  have  none,  being  mere  fabled 
142 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

abstractions  clothed  in  the  pictorial  coun- 
terpoint of  the  talented  Frenchman. 

In  Tschaikowsky,  the  lights  are  turned  on 
more  fiercely;  his  dramatic  characterization 
is  marvellous  when  one  considers  that  the 
human  element  is  absent  from  his  mechanism. 
He  employs  only  the  orchestra,  and  across 
its  tonal  tapestry  there  flit  the  impassioned 
figures  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  the  despairing 
apparition  of  Francesca  da  Rimini,  and  the 
stalking  of  Hamlet  and  Manfred,  gloomy, 
revengeful,  imperious,  thinking  and  sorrow- 
ing men. 

Tschaikowsky  went  far,  but  Richard  Strauss 
has  dared  to  go  further.  He  first  individual- 
ized, and  rather  grotesquely,  Don  Juan, 
Til  Eulenspiegel,  Macbeth;  but  in  Death 
and  Apotheosis  and  in  Also  Sprach 
Zarathustra  he  has  attempted  almost  the 
impossible ;  he  has  attempted  the  deline- 
ation of  thought,  not  musical  thought,  but 
philosophical  ideas  in  tone.  He  has  dis- 
claimed this  attempt,  but  the  fact  neverthe- 
less remains  that  the  various  divisions  and 
subdivisions  of  his  extraordinary  work  are  at- 
tempts to  seize  not  only  certain  elusive  psy- 
chical states,  but  also  to  paint  pure  idea  — 
the  "  Reine  vernunft  "  of  the  metaphysicians. 
Of  course  he  has  failed,  yet  his  failure 
M3 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

marks  a  great  step  in  the  mastery  over 
the  indefiniteness  of  music.  Strauss'  Ger- 
man brain  with  its  grasp  of  the  essentials 
of  philosophy,  aUied  to  a  vigorous  emotional 
nature  and  a  will  and  imagination  that  stop 
at  nothing,  enabled  him  to  throw  into  high 
relief  his  excited  mental  states.  That  these 
states  took  unusual  melodic  shapes,  that  there 
is  the  suggestion  of  abnormality,  was  to  be 
expected ;  for  Strauss  has  made  a  flight  into 
a  country  in  which  it  is  almost  madness  to 
venture.  He  has,  on  his  own  opinions  and 
purely  by  the  aid  of  a  powerful  reasoning 
imagination,  sought  to  give  an  emotional 
garb  to  ■  pure  abstractions.  Ugliness  was 
bound  to  result  but  it  is  characteristic  ugli- 
ness. There  is  profound  method  in  the  mad- 
ness of  Strauss,  and  I  beg  his  adverse  critics 
to  pause  and  consider  his  aims  before  entirely 
condemning  him. 

The  object  of  music  is  neither  to  preach 
nor  to  philosophize,  but  the  range  of  the  art 
is  vastly  enlarged  since  the  days  of  music  of 
the  decorative  pattern  type.  Beethoven  filled 
it  with  his  overshadowing  passion,  and  shall  we 
say  ethical  philosophy?  Schumann  and  the 
romanticists  gave  it  color,  glow  and  bizarre 
passion ;  Wagner  moulded  its  forms  into  rare 
dramatic  shapes,  and  Brahms  has  endeavored 
144 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

to  fill  the  old  classic  bottles  with  the  new  wine 
of  the  romantics.  All  these  men  seemed  to 
dare  the  impossible,  according  to  their  con- 
temporaries, and  now  Strauss  has  shifted  the 
string  one  peg  higher ;  not  only  does  he 
demand  the  fullest  intensity  of  expression 
but  he  insists  on  the  presence  of  pure  idea, 
and  when  we  consider  the  abstract  nature  of 
the  first  theme  of  Beethoven's  fifth  sym- 
phony, when  we  recall  the  passionate  inflec- 
tion of  the  opening  measures  of  Tristan  and 
Isolde,  who  shall  dare  criticise  Strauss,  who 
shall  say  to  him,  Thus  far  and  no  farther? 


Richard  Strauss  said  of  his  work  when  it 
was  produced  in  Berlin,  December,  1896  :  "  I 
did  not  intend  to  write  philosophical  music 
or  portray  Nietzsche's  great  work  musically. 
I  meant  to  convey  musically  an  idea  of  the 
development  of  the  human  race  from  its 
origin,  through  the  various  phases  of  devel- 
opment, religious  as  well  as  scientific,  up  to 
Nietzsche's  idea  of  the  Uebermensch.  The 
whole  symphonic  poem  is  intended  as  my 
homage  to  the  genius  of  Nietzsche,  which 
found  its  greatest  exemplification  in  his  book, 
Thus  Spake  Zarathustra. " 
10  145 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN   MUSIC 

For  me  the  beginning  is  like  Michel 
Angelo's  Last  Judgment,  or  the  birth  of  a 
mighty  planet;  its  close  has  the  dreary 
quality  of  modern  art,  profoundly  sad  and 
enigmatic.  There  is  no  God  for  Strauss, 
there  is  no  God  in  Tscha'ikowsky's  last  sym- 
phony and  there  was  no  God  for  Nietzsche, 
no  God  but  self 

You  have  Strauss'  point  of  view,  have  you 
not?  He  disclaims  making  any  attempt  to 
set  philosophy  to  tones ;  indeed  Wagner's 
failure  in  Tristan  and  the  Ring  to  ensnare 
Schopenhauer's  metaphysic  was  sufficient 
warning  for  the  younger  man.  The  whole 
undertaking  stands  and  falls  upon  the  ques- 
tion :  Is  Also  Sprach  Zarathustra  good  music  ? 
I  set  aside  now  all  considerations  of  orches- 
tral technic  —  a  technic  that  leaves  Berlioz, 
Liszt  and  Wagner  gaping  aghast  in  the  rear 
—  and  propose  only  the  consideration  of 
Strauss'  thematic  workmanship.  Let  it  be 
at  once  conceded  that  he  does  not  make 
beautiful  music,  that  his  melodies  are  un- 
melodious,  even  ugly,  when  subjected  to 
the  classic  or  romantic  tests  —  call  it  clas- 
sic and  be  done,  for  Schumann,  Chopin, 
Liszt  and  Wagner  are  classics  —  and  we 
have  now  further  narrowed  the  argument 
to  a  question  of  the  characteristic  or  veristic 
146 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

in  melody  making,  and  this  is  the  crux  of 
the  situation. 

Has  Richard  Strauss,  then,  made  charac- 
teristic music,  and  how  has  its  character 
conformed  with  his  own  dimly  outlined  pro- 
gramme—  not  Dr.  Riemann's  elaborate  ana- 
lytical scheme? 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  write  philosophical 
music,"  he  said.  Of  course  not;  it  were 
impossible ;  but  some  of  the  raw  elements 
of  philosophy  are  in  the  poem;  keen,  over- 
whelming logic,  sincerity,  orbic  centrality, 
and  hints  of  the  microcosm  and  the  macro- 
cosm of  music.  Strauss  set  out  to  accomplish 
what  has  never  before  been  accomplished  in 
or  out  of  the  world,  and  he  has  failed,  and 
the  failure  is  glorious,  so  glorious  that  it 
will  blind  a  generation  before  its  glory  is 
apprehended ;  so  glorious  that  it  blazes  a 
new  turn  in  the  path  made  straight  by  Bee- 
thoven, Berlioz,  Liszt,   and  Wagner  ! 

Wagner  sought  the  aid  of  other  arts,  and 
sang  his  Schopenhauer  in  gloomy  tones; 
Strauss,  rel\"ing  on  the  sheer  audacity  of  the 
instrumental  army,  chants  of  the  cosmos,  of 
the  birth  of  atoms,  of  the  religious  loves, 
hates,  works,  doubts,  joys  and  sorrows  of 
the  atom,  would  fain  deluge  us  with  an 
epitome  of  the  world  processes,  and  so  has 
147 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

failed.  But  what  colossal  daring!  What  an 
imagination  !     What  poetic  invention  ! 

The  authors  of  Genesis,  of  the  Book  of 
Job,  of  the  Songs  of  Solomon,  the  Apoca- 
lypse, the  Iliad,  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
the  Koran,  the  Divine  Comedy,  Don  Quixote, 
Shakespeare's  plays,  Faust,  the  Ninth  Sym- 
phony and  Tristan,  all  rolled  into  one  would 
have  failed  too,  before  such  a  stupendous 
task. 

Now,  perhaps  we  may  reach  a  comparative 
estimate  of  the  glory  involved  in  Richard 
Strauss'  half-mad,  idealistic  failure. 

Putting  aside  Riemann  as  a  hopelessly  in- 
volved guide  —  a  baleful  ignis-fatuus  in  a 
midnight  forest,  —  Strauss'  poem  impressed 
me,  after  three  hearings,  as  the  gigantic 
torso  of  an  art  work  for  the  future.  Eu- 
phony was  hurled  to  the  winds,  the 
Addisonian  ductility  of  Mozart,  the  Theo- 
phile  Gautier  coloring  of  Schumann,  Cho- 
pin's delicate  romanticism,  all  were  scorned 
as  not  being  truthful  enough  for  the  subject  in 
hand,  and  the  subject  is  not  a  pretty  or  a  senti- 
mental one.  Strauss,  with  his  almost  super- 
human mastery  of  all  schools,  could  have 
written  with  ease  in  the  manner  of  any  of  his 
predecessors,  but,  like  a  new  Empedocles  on 
JEtna,  preferred  to  leap  into  the  dark,  or 
148 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

rather  into  the  fiery  crater  of  truth.  In  few 
bars  did  I  discover  an  accent  of  insincerity, 
a  making  of  music  for  the  mere  sake  of 
music.  He  has  leaped  \vht_re  Liszt  feared 
to  venture,  and  Strauss  is  Liszt's  descendant 
as  well  as  Wagner's.  He  cast  aside  all  make- 
shifts, even  the  human  voice,  which  is  the 
human  interest,  and  dared,  with  complicated 
virtuosity,  to  tell  the  truth  —  his  truth,  be  it 
remembered  —  and  so  there  is  little  likelihood 
of  his  being  understood  in  this  century. 

It  were  madness  to  search  for  Nietzsche  in 
Strauss — that  is,  in  this  score.  It  is  un- 
Nietzsche  music  —  Nietzsche  who  discarded 
Wagner  for  Bizet,  Beethoven  for  Mozart. 
Schopenhauer,  it  may  be  remembered,  laughed 
at  Wagner  the  musician,  played  the  flute  and 
admired  Rossini ! 

If  Nietzsche,  clothed  in  his  most  brilliant 
mind,  had  sat  in  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House  of  New  York  City  on  the  occasion 
of  the  first  performance  of  his  poem  by  the 
Boston  Symphony  Orchestra,  December, 
1897,  he  would  probably  have  cried  aloud: 
"  I  have  pronounced  laughter  holy,"  and  then 
laughed  himself  into  the  madhouse.  Poor, 
unfortunate,  marvellous  Nietzsche  !  But  it  is 
Strauss  mirroring  his  own  moods  after  feed- 
ing full  on  Nietzsche,  and  we  must  be  content 
149 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

to  swallow  his  title,  "  Also  Sprach  Zarathus- 
tra,"  when  in  reality  it  is  "Thus  Spake  Rich- 
ard Strauss  !  " 

The  first  theme — Zarathustra's,  intoned 
by  four  trumpets  —  is  solemnly  prodigious; 
probably  the  dwellers  in  the  rear  world  theme 
meant  something  to  the  composer.  You  see 
he  has  us  on  the  hip ;  either  accept  his  sym- 
bols or  not;  you  have  your  choice,  you  be- 
lievers in  programme  music ;  to  me  it  was 
lugubriously  shuddersome.  I  liked  the  beau- 
tiful A  flat  melody ;  it  was  almost  a  melody, 
and  the  yearning  motive  was  tremendously 
exciting.  In  the  section,  Joys  and  Passions, 
the  violins  and  'celli  sweep  in  mountainous 
curves  of  passion  —  never  except  in  Wagner 
has  this  molten  episode  been  equalled  —  and 
then  the  ground  began  to  slip  under  my  feet. 
I  grasped  at  the  misty  shadows  of  the  grave 
song,  and  the  tortuous  and  wriggling  five 
voice  fugue  in  Science  seemed  hke  some 
loathsome,  footless  worm.  The  dance  chap- 
ter is  shrilly  bacchanalian.  It  may  be  the 
Over-Man  dancing,  but  no  human  ever  trod 
on  such  scarlet  tones. 

And  the  waltz  melody  !   why,  it  is  as  com- 
mon as  mud,   and   intentionally  so,  but  it  is 
treated  with  Promethean  touches.     When  I 
reached    the    part   called    the    Song   of  the 
150 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

Night  Wanderer,  I  renounced  Bach,  Bee- 
thoven and  Brahms  and  became  maddeningly- 
intoxicated  —  not  with  joy,  but  with  doubt, 
despair  and  defiance.  Never  shall  I  forget 
that  screaming  trumpet  as  it  cut  jaggedly 
across  the  baleful  gloom !  Sinister  beyond 
compare  was  the  atmosphere,  and  I  could 
have  cried  aloud  with  Dante : 

"  Lo,  this  is  Dis  !  " 

I  understood  the  divine  laughter  of  Hell, 
and  it  surely  was  Dis  that  held  its  sides  and 
cackled  infernally !  When  we  had  reached 
the  rim  of  eternity,  "  the  under  side  of  noth- 
ing," as  Daudet  would  have  said,  there  the 
"twelve  strokes  of  the  heavy,  humming 
bell " : 

One  I 
O  Man,  take  heed ! 

Two ! 
What  speaks  the  deep  midnight  ? 

Three  1 
I  have  slept,  I  have  slept  -= 

Four  1 
I  have  awaked  out  of  a  deep  dream  :  — 

Five  I 
The  world  is  deep. 

Six! 
And  deeper  than  the  day  thought. 

Seven  1 
Deep  is  its  woe  — 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Eight! 
Joy,  deeper  still  than  heart  sorrow  : 

»  Nine! 

Woe  speaks:  Vanish! 

Ten  ! 
Yet  all  joy  wants  eternity  — 

Eleven  ! 
Wants  deep,  deep  eternity  ! 

Twelve  ! 

Where  is  Hell-Breughel,  painter,  or  Kapell- 
meister Kreisler,  composer,  after  this  wel- 
tering symphony  of  sin,  sorrow  and  cruel 
passions?  Their  symbolism  seems  crude  and 
childish,  although  Hoffman's  musician  was 
certainly  a  forerunner  of  Strauss. 

There  is  one  thing  I  cannot  understand. 
If  the  Wagnerians  and  the  Lisztianer  threw 
overboard  old  forms  in  obedience  to  their 
masters,  why  can  they  not  accept  the  logical 
outcome  of  their  theories  in  Strauss?  If  you 
pitch  form  to  the  devil,  there  must  be  a  devil 
to  pitch  it  to.  Strauss  is  the  most  modern  of 
the  devils,  and  to  the  old  classical  group  he 
would  be  the  rcductio  ad  absurdum  of  the 
movement  that  began  with  Beethoven.  Do 
you  hear?  Beethoven  !  To  assert  that  his 
shoulders  are  not  broad  enough  to  wear  the 
mantle  of  Liszt,  I  can  only  ask  why?  Liszt 
seems  jejune  when  it  comes  to  covering  an 
152 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

orchestral  canvas  of  the  size  of  Strauss's. 
Strauss  is  his  natural  musical  son,  and  the  son 
has  quite  as  much  to  say  thematically  as  the 
father,  while  in  the  matter  of  brush  brilliancy, 
massing  of  color,  startling  figure  drawing  — 
witness  Don  Juan  and  Til  Eulenspiegel  — 
and  swift  thinking,  Strauss  is  easily  the 
superior.  He  has  not  Wagner's  genius ;  far 
from  it ;  yet,  as  Otto  Floersheim  said  :  "  Also 
Sprach  Zarathustra  "  is  "the  greatest  score 
penned  by  man."  It  is  a  cathedral  in  archi- 
tectonic and  is  dangerously  sublime,  dan- 
gerously silly,  with  grotesque  gargoyles, 
hideous  flying  abutments,  exquisite  trace- 
ries, fantastic  arches  half  gothic,  half  infer- 
nal, huge  and  resounding  spaces,  gorgeous 
fagades  and  heaven  splitting  spires.  A 
mighty  structure,  and  no  more  to  be  under- 
stood at  one,  two  or  a  dozen  visits  than  the 
Kolner  Dom. 

It  lacks  only  simplicity  of  style ;  it  is 
tropical,  torrential,  and  in  it  there  is  the 
note  of  hysteria.  It  is  complex  with  the 
diseased  complexity  of  the  age,  and  its 
strivings  are  the  agonized  strivings  of  a 
morbid  Titan.  Truthful?  aye,  horribly  so, 
for  it  shows  us  the  brain  of  a  great  man, 
overwrought  by  the  vast  emotional  problems 
of  his  generation. 

153 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Also  Sprach  Zarathustra  should  be  played 
once  every  season,  and  the  audience  be 
limited  to  poets,  musicians  and  madmen. 
The  latter,  being  Over-Men,  would  grasp  its 
sad  truths.  And  as  I  write  I  hear  the  key  of 
B  major  and  the  key  of  C  major  and  those 
three  cryptic  sinister  Cs  pizzicato  at  the 
close,  and  ask  myself  if,  after  all,  Nietzsche 
and  Strauss  are  not  right,  "  Eternity  's  sought 
by  all  delight  —  eternity  deep  —  by  all 
delight." 

II 

Musically  it  is  a  symphonic  poem  of 
rather  loose  construction  and  as  to  outline ; 
but  rigorously  logical  in  its  presentment  of 
thematic  material,  and  in  its  magnificent 
weaving  of  the  contrapuntal  web.  There  is 
organic  unity,  and  the  strenuousness  of  the 
composer's  ideas  almost  blind  his  hearers  to 
their  tenuity,  and  sometimes  a  squat  ugliness. 
Strauss  has  confessed  to  not  following  a 
definite  scheme,  a  precise  presentation  of 
the  bacchantic  philosophy  of  Nietzsche. 
Nietzsche  w^as  a  lyrical  rhapsodist,  a  literary 
artist  first,  perhaps  a  philosopher  afterward. 
It  is  the  lyric  side  of  him  that  Strauss  seeks 
to  interpret.  Simply  as  absolute  music  it  is 
154 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

astounding  enough —  astounding  in  its  scope, 
handling  and  execution.  It  is  not  as  realistic 
as  you  imagine,  not  as  realistic  for  instance 
as  the  Don  Juan  and  Til  Eulenspiegel. 
Strauss  is  here  an  idealist  striving  after  the 
impossible,  yet  compassing  the  hem  of  gran- 
deur, and  often  a  conscious  seeker  after  the 
abnormally  ugly.  Yet  one  hesitates  to  call 
his  an  abnormally  evil  brain.  Abnormal  it 
may  be  in  its  manifestation  of  eccentric 
power  but  it  is  not  evil  in  its  tendency,  and  a 
brain  that  can  rear  such  a  mighty  tone  struc- 
ture is  to  be  seriously  dealt  with. 

As  a  mere  matter  of  musical  politics  I  do 
not  care  for  programme  music.  Wagner  and, 
before  him,  Beethoven,  fixed  its  boundaries. 
Liszt,  in  his  Faust  symphony,  and  Wagner, 
in  his  Faust  overture,  read  into  pure  music  as 
much  meaning  as  its  framework  could  endure 
without  calling  in  the  aid  of  the  sister  arts. 
Strauss  pushed  realism  to  a  frantic  degree, 
giving  us  in  his  Death  and  Apotheosis  the 
most  minute  memoranda.  But  in  Also 
Sprach  Zarathustra  he  has  deserted  surface 
imitations.  The  laughter  of  the  convales- 
cent, and  the  slow,  creeping  fugue  betray  his 
old  tendencies.  There  is  an  uplifting  roar  in 
the  opening  that  is  really  elemental.  Those 
tremendous  chords  alone  proclaim  Strauss  a 
155 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

man  of  genius,  and  their  naked  simplicity 
gives  him  fee  simple  to  the  heritage  of 
Beethoven.  But  this  grandeur  is  not  main- 
tained throughout. 

The  close  is  enigmatic,  and  the  juggling 
with  the  tonality  is  fruitful  of  suspense,  be- 
wilderment. Yet  it  does  not  plunge  the 
listener  into  the  gloomy,  abysmal  gulf  of 
Tschaikowsky's  last  movement  of  the  B  minor 
symphony.  It  is  not  so  simple  nor  yet  so 
cosmical.  Strauss  has  the  grand  manner  at 
times,  but  he  cannot  maintain  it  as  did  Brahms 
in  his  Requiem,  or  Tschaikowsky  in  his  last 
symphonic  work. 

The  narrative  and  declamatory  style  is 
often  violently  interrupted  by  passages  of 
great  descriptive  power;  the  development 
of  the  themes  seems  coincidental  with  some 
programme  in  Strauss'  mind  and  the  contra- 
puntal ingenuity  displayed  is  just  short  of  the 
miraculous.  There  is  a  groaning  and  a  tra- 
vailing spirit,  a  restless,  uneasy  aspiring  which 
is  Faust-like,  and  suggests  a  close  study  of 
Eine  Faust  Overture,  but  there  is  more 
versatility  of  mood,  more  hysteria  and  more 
febrile  agitation  in  the  Strauss  score.  It  is  a 
sheaf  of  moods  bound  together  with  rare  skill, 
and  in  the  most  cacophonous  portions  there 
is  no  suspicion  of  writing  for  the  exposition  of 
156 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

wilful  eccentricity.  There  are  reminiscences 
more  in  color  than  form  of  Tristan,  of 
Walkiire,  Die  Meistersinger,  and  once  there 
was  a  suggestion  of  Gounod,  but  the  com- 
poser's style  is  his  own  despite  his  Wag- 
nerian affiliations. 

Strauss  is  a  man  of  rare  and  powerful 
imagination  ;  the  tentacles  of  his  imagination 
are  restlessly  feeling  and  thrusting  forward 
and  grappling  with  material  on  most  danger- 
ous territory.  The  need  of  expression  of 
definite  modes  of  thought,  of  more  definite 
modes  of  emotion,  is  a  question  that  has  per- 
plexed every  great  composer.  With  such 
an  apparatus  as  the  modern  orchestra — in 
Strauss's  hands  an  eloquent,  plastic  and  pal- 
pitating instrument  —  much  may  be  ventured 
and,  while  the  composer  has  not  altogether 
succeeded  —  it  is  almost  a  superhuman  task 
he  sets  himself  to  achieve  —  he  has  made  us 
think  seriously  of  a  new  trend  in  the  art  of 
discoursing  music.  Formalism  is  abandoned 
—  Strauss  moves  by  episodes ;  now  furi- 
ously swift,  now  ponderously  lethargic,  and 
one  is  lost  in  amazement  at  the  loftiness,  the 
solidity  and  general  massiveness  of  his  struc- 
ture. The  man's  scholarship  is  so  profound, 
almost  as  profound  as  Brahms' ;  his  genius 
for  the  orchestra  so  marked,  his  color  and 
157 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

rhythmic  sense  so  magnificently  developed 
that  the  general  eftect  of  his  rhetoric  is 
perhaps  too  blazingly  brilliant.  He  has 
more  to  say  than  Berlioz  and  says  it  bet- 
ter, is  less  magniloquent  and  more  poetical 
than  Liszt,  is  as  clever  as  Saint-Saens,  but 
in  thematic  invention  he  is  miles  behind 
Wagner. 

His  melodies,  it  must  be  confessed,  are  not 
always  remarkable  or  distinguished  in  quality, 
setting  aside  the  question  of  ugliness  alto- 
gether. But  the  melodic  curve  is  big  and 
passional.  Strauss  can  be  tender,  dramatic, 
bizarre,  poetic  and  humorous,  but  the  noble 
art  of  simplicity  he  sadly  lacks  —  for  art  it  is. 
His  themes  in  this  poem  are  often  simple ; 
indeed  the  waltz  is  distinctly  commonplace, 
but  it  is  not  the  Doric,  the  bald  simplicity  of 
Beethoven.  It  is  rather  a  brutal  plainness  of 
speech. 

Strauss  is  too  deadly  in  earnest  to  trifle  or 
to  condescend  to  ear  tickling  devices.  The 
tremendous  sincerity  of  the  work  will  be  its 
saving  salt  for  many  who  violently  disagree 
with  the  whole  scheme.  The  work  is  scored 
for  one  piccoli-flute,  three  flutes  (the  third  of 
which  is  interchangeable  with  a  second  pic- 
colo), three  oboes,  one  English  horn,  one  E 
fiat  clarinet,  two  ordinary  clarinets,  one  bass 
15S 


STRAUSS  AND  NIETZSCHE 

clarinet,  three  bassoons,  one  double  bassoon, 
six  horns,  four  trumpets,  three  trombones, 
two  bass  tubas,  one  pair  of  kettledrums,  bass 
drum,  cymbals,  trian?A,  Glockenspiel,  one 
low  bell,  two  harps,  the  usual  strings,  and 
organ. 


'59 


IV 
THE   GREATER  CHOPIN 


"  As-TU  reflechi  combien  nous  sommes 
organises  pour  le  Malheur"?  A  fatal  fleet  of 
names  sails  before  us  evoked  by  Flaubert's 
pitiless  and  pitiful  question  in  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  George  Sand.  She  could  hav^e 
answered  for  at  least  two  —  two  names  writ 
large  in  the  book  of  fate  opposite  her  own  — 
Frederic  Chopin  and  Alfred  De  Musset. 
Androgynous  creature  that  she  was,  she 
filled  her  masculine  maw  with  the  most  deli- 
cate bonnes  bouches  that  chance  vouchsafed 
her.  Can't  you  see  her,  with  the  gaze  of  a 
sibyl,  crunching  such  a  genius  as  Chopin,  he 
exhaling  his  melodious  sigh  as  he  expired? 
But  this  attrition  of  souls  filled  the  world 
with  art,  for  after  all  what  was  George  Sand 
but  a  skilful  literary  midwife,  who  delivered 
men  of  genius  and  often  devoured  their  souls 
after  forcing  from  them  in  intolerable  agony 
the  most  exquisite  music?  They  sowed  in 
sorrow,  in  sorrow  they  reaped. 

400 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

It  is  not  al\va}-s  meet  and  just  that  we 
exhibit  to  the  gaze  of  an  incurious  world  our 
intellectual  Lares  and  Penates.  There  is 
something  almost  indecent  in  the  way  we 
rend  our  mental  privacies,  our  heart  sanctu- 
aries. To  the  artist  in  prose,  the  temptation 
to  be  utterly  subjective  is  chilled  by  the 
thought  of  the  sacrifice.  Hamlet-like,  he 
may  feel  that  wearing  his  heart  on  his  sleeve 
will  never  compensate  him  for  the  holiness  of 
solitude,  no  matter  if  the  heart  he  dissects  be 
of  unusual  color  and  splendor.  Far  happier 
is  the  tone  poet.  Addressing  a  selected 
audience,  appealing  to  sensibilities  firm  and 
tastes  exquisitely  cultured,  he  may  still  re- 
main secluded.  His  musical  phrases  are 
cryptic  and  even  those  who  run  fastest  may 
not  always  read.  The  veil  that  hangs  hazily 
about  all  great  art  works  is  the  Tanit  veil 
that  obscures  the  holy  of  holies  from  the 
gaze  of  the  rude,  the  blasphemous.  The 
golden  reticence  of  the  music  artist  saves 
him  from  the  mortifying  misunderstandings 
of  the  worker  in  verse,  and  spares  him  the 
pang  which  must  come  from  the  nudity  of 
the  written  word. 

I  have  worshipped,  and  secretly,  those 
artists  in  whose  productions  there  is  a  savor 
of  the  strange.  I  loved  Poe,  although  I 
"  i6i 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

seldom  read  him  to-day.  I  thought  Chopin 
the  last  word  in  music,  until  I  heard  Tristan 
and  Isolde.  I  can  never  shake  off  my  won- 
der for  Flaubert's  great  chiselled  art,  and 
I  would  give  a  wilderness  of  Rubens  for  one 
Whistler.  I  know  this  may  be  a  confession 
of  Eesthetic  narrowness,  but  I  never  could 
bow  down  to  overgrown  reputations,  nor 
does  the  merely  big  excite  my  nerves.  In 
this  matter  I  agree  unreservedly  with  Mr. 
Finck.  I  would  rather  read  Poe's  Silence 
than  all  the  essays  of  Macaulay,  and  can 
echo  George  Sand,  who  wTote  that  one  tiny 
prelude  of  Chopin  is  worth  all  the  trumpet- 
ing of  Meyerbeer.  It  was  in  this  spirit  I 
approached  Chopin  years  ago ;  it  is  in  the 
same  spirit  I  regard  him  to-day.  But  while 
my  vantage  ground  has  not  perceptibly 
shifted,  I  descry  a  Chopin  other  than  the 
melancholy  dreamer  I  knew  a  decade  ago. 
My  glances  are  imprisoned  by  new  and  even 
more  fascinating  aspects  of  this  extraordinary 
man  and  poet.  It  is  of  the  greater  Chopin  I 
would  speak;  the  Chopin  not  of  yester-year, 
but  the  Chopin  of  to-morrow. 

The  old  Chopin  is   gone   for  most  of  us. 

The    barrel    organ  —  not    Mallarme's    organ, 

but    that    deadly    parallel    for    pianists,    the 

piano-organ,  with  its  super-Janko  technic  — 

162 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

now  drives  the  D  flat  valse  across  its  brassy 
gamut  helter-skelter.  The  E  flat  nocturne 
is  drummed  by  schoolgirls  as  a  study  in 
chord  playing  for  the  left  hand,  and  the 
mazourkas— heaven  protect  us  ! — what  have 
not  these  poor  dances,  with  their  sprightly 
rhythms,  now  wilted,  been  subjected  to; 
with  what  strange  oaths  have  they  not  been 
played?  Alas!  the  Chopin  romance  is  van- 
ished. His  studies  follow  those  of  the  prosaic 
Clementi,  and  Du  Maurier  nabbed  one  of 
his  impromptus  for  Trilby.  Poor  Chopin ! 
devoured  by  those  ravening  wolves,  the  con- 
cert pianists,  tortured  by  stupid  pupils  and 
smeared  with  the  kisses  of  sentimentalists, 
well  may  you  cry  aloud  from  the  heights  of 
Parnassus,  "  Great  Jo\'e,  deliver  me  from  my 
music  ! 

What  is  left  us  in  all  this  furious  carnage, 
what  undefiled  in  this  continuous  rape,  this 
filching  of  a  man's  spiritual  goods?  Some 
few  works  unassailed,  thanks  to  the  master  — 
some  noble  compositions  whose  sun-smitten 
summits  are  at  once  a  consolation  and  an 
agony.  To  strive,  to  reach  those  wonderful 
peaks  of  music  is  granted  but  to  the  few. 
Even  that  bird  of  prey  and  pedals,  the  pro- 
fessional piano  reciter,  avoids  a  certain  Cho- 
pin, not  so  much  from  instinctive  reverence, 
163 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   IMODERN   MUSIC 

but  because  of  self-interest.  He  under- 
stands not,  and  also  knows  full  well  that  his 
audiences  do  not.  This  hedges  the  new 
Chopin  from  cheap,  vulgar  commerce. 

I  have  been  criticised  for  asserting  that  in 
Chopin's  later  works  may  be  found  the  germ  of 
the  entire  modern  harmonic  scheme.  It  was 
not  in  the  use  of  the  chord  of  the  tenth  alone 
that  Chopin  was  a  path-breaker.  Even  in  his 
first  book  of  studies  may  be  found  a  melodic 
and  harmonic  scheme,  without  which  the 
whole  modern  apparatus  of  composition  would 
not  be  as  it  is  now.  Does  this  sound  daring? 
Come,  put  it  to  the  test !  That  wonderful  up- 
ward inflection  which  we  look  upon  as  Wag- 
ner's may  be  found  in  the  G  sharp  minor 
part  of  the  C  minor  study  in  opus  10.  Look 
at  it !  Sift  its  significance  and  then  revert  to 
Isolde's  Liebestod,  or  Wotan's  entrance  in 
the  third  act  of  Die  Walkiire.  There  is 
the  nub  of  the  entire  system  of  modern  emo- 
tional melody.  Take  all  the  etudes  and  what 
treasures  do  we  not  find?  The  lovely  Fan- 
taisie-polonaise,  op.  6i,  has  an  introduction 
which  is  marvellous  and  which  will  sound  new 
a  century  hence.  There  is  a  kernel  of  a 
figure  that  will  surprise  the  Wagnerite  who 
knows  his  Ring.  I  speak  of  a  triplet  figure 
in  sixteenths  in  the  introduction.  It  was 
164 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

the  late  Anton  Seidl  who  first  called  my 
attention  to  the  "  Chopinisms "  of  the  won- 
derful love-duet  in  the  second  act  of  Tris- 
tan. He  said  Wagner  had  laughed  about 
the  coloring.  If  Wagner  is  the  oak  tree, 
then  Chopin  is  the  acorn  of  the  latter-day 
music. 

What  is  this  new  Chopin  I  pretend  to  see? 
Or  is  it  only  as  the  soul  in  Browning's  poem, 
All  that  I  Know  of  a  certain  Star?  Does 
my  Chopin  star  dart  now  red,  now  blue,  for 
me  alone?  Chopin  left  us  four  ballades  and 
a  fantaisie  in  F  minor,  which  is  a  tremendous 
ballade,  although  not  in  the  traditional  bal- 
lade form.  But  it  has  unmistakably  the 
narrative  tone ;  it  tells  an  overwhelmingly 
dramatic  story.  Yet  of  the  four  ballades, 
who  dare  play  the  first  and  second  in  G 
minor  and  A  flat?  They  are  hopelessly  vul- 
garized. They  have  been  butchered  to  make 
a  concert  goer's  holiday.  The  G  minor,  full 
of  dramatic  fire  and  almost  sensual  expres- 
sion, is  a  whirlwind  ;  unsexed  by  women  and 
womanish  men,  it  is  a  byword,  a  reproach. 
Little  wonder  that  Liszt  shuddered  when 
asked  to  listen  to  this  abused  piece.  As  for 
the  A  flat  ballade,  I  can  say  nothing.  Grace- 
ful, charming,  it  appeals  even  to  the  lovers  of 
music-hall  ditties.  It,  too,  has  been  worried 
i6s 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

to  death.  The  one  in  F  has  been  spared  for 
us.  It  is  a  thunderbolt  in  a  bed  of  violets. 
Its  tempest,  scurrying  and  growling,  is  for 
the  hand  of  the  master.  Let  no  mean  disciple 
juggle  with  its  vast  elemental  tones.  Disaster 
dire  will  surely  follow.  And  when  the  sky 
has  cleared  how  divinely  azure  it  is  !  The  lilt 
of  the  breezes  with  thin  thunder  in  the  dis- 
tance closes  a  page  that  is  immortal. 

When  young  I  had  no  god  but  Beethoven, 
and  all  other  gods  were  strange.  To-day, 
hemmed  in  by  the  noise  and  dust  of  the 
daily  traffic  of  life,  I  have  a  tiny  sanctuary 
which  I  visit  betimes.  In  it  is  the  fourth 
ballade  of  Chopin,  the  one  in  the  mode  of  F 
minor.  It  is  a  masterpiece  in  piano  litera- 
ture as  the  IMona  Lisa  and  ]\Iadame  Bovary 
are  masterpieces  in  painting  and  prose.  Its 
melody,  which  probes  the  very  coverts  of 
the  soul,  is  haunting  in  its  chromatic  color- 
ing, and  then  that  fruitful  pause  in  half  notes, 
the  prelude  to  the  end  !  How  it  fires  the 
imagination ;  how  unlike  the  namby-pamby 
Chopin  of  the  school-room  and  the  critics! 

The  etudes  are  beyond  the  limit  of  this 
paper.  I  can  only  say  that  they  are  enor- 
mously misunderstood  and  misread.  Studies 
in  moods,  as  well  as  in  mechanism,  they  are 
harnessed  with  the  dull,  unimaginative  crea- 
i66 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

tures  of  the  conservatory  curriculum,  and  so 
in  the  concert  room  we  miss  the  flavor,  the 
heroic  freedom  of  the  form.  Who  plays  the 
C  minor  in  the  opus  25?  Who  ever  gives  us 
with  true  bravoura  that  dazzling  drive  of 
notes,  the  A  minor,  the  second  of  the  tonality 
in  the  same  book?  De  Pachmann  plays  the 
study  in  thirds,  but  it  is  only  a  study,  not  a 
poem.  When  will  these  series  of  palpitating 
music  pictures  be  played  with  all  their  range 
of  emotional  dynamics? 

The  impromptus  are  almost  denied  us.  The 
fantaisie  impromptu  and  the  A  flat,  are  they 
not  commonplaces,  seldom  played  beautifully  .-* 
A  greater  Chopin  is  in  the  one  in  F  sharp, 
the  second.  There  is  the  true  impromptu 
spirit,  the  wandering,  vagrant  mood,  the  rest- 
less outpouring  of  fancy.  It  is  delicious. 
The  G  flat  is  practically  undiscovered.  Of 
the  mazourkas,  the  impish,  morbid,  gay,  sour, 
sweet  little  dances,  I  need  not  speak.  They 
are  a  sealed  book  for  most  pianists ;  and  if 
you  have  not  the  savor  of  the  Slav  in  you  you 
should  not  touch  them.  Yet  Chopin  has 
done  some  great  things  in  this  form.  Think 
of  the  three  or  four  in  C  sharp  minor,  the  one 
in  B  flat  minor,  the  curiously  insistent  one  in 
B  minor  and  that  sad,  funereal  mazourka  in  A 
minor,  the  last  composition  Chopin  put  on 
167 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

paper.  The  singular  idea  of  the  last  named, 
almost  a  fixed  one,  its  hectic  gayety  and 
astounding  gloom  show  us  the  sick  brain  of 
the  dying  man.  But  it  is  not  upon  these 
works  I  would  dwell.  The  new,  the  larger 
Chopin  will  be  known  to  posterity  by  the 
three  great  polonaises  in  F  sharp  minor, 
in  A  flat  and  the  fantaisie  polonaise.  What 
a  wealth  of  fantasy  there  is  in  opus  6i  !  Its 
restless  tonality,  the  marked  beauty  of  the 
first  theme,  the  almost  vaporous  treatment, 
the  violent  mood  changes  and  the  richness  of 
the  harmonies  place  this  work  among  the 
elect.  The  F  sharp  mino-  polonaise  and  the 
two  in  E  flat  minor  and  C  minor  contain 
some  strong,  virile  writing.  They  need  men, 
not  pianists,  to  play  them. 

Professor  Frederick  Niecks  calls  the  F 
sharp  minor  polonaise  "  pathologic,"  and 
Stanislaw  Przybyszewski,  that  curious,  half- 
mad  genius  who,  like  Verlaine,  has  seen  the 
inside  of  prisons,  has  written  surprisingly  of 
the  polonaise;  indeed,  he  is  said  to  play  it 
well,  and  has  coupled  the  composer's  name 
with  Nietzsche's  in  his  strange  brochure.  The 
Psychology  of  the  Individual.  To  me  the 
piece  far  surpasses  in  grandeur  all  of  Chopin's 
polonaises,  even  the  "  Heroic,"  with  its  thun- 
derous cannon  and  rattling  of  horses'  hoofs. 
i68 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

It  may  be  morbid,  but  it  is  also  magnificent. 
The  triplets  in  eighth  notes  in  the  introduc- 
tion gradually  work  up  to  a  climax  of  great 
power  before  the  theme  enters  in  single 
notes.  Soon  these  are  discarded  for  octaves 
and  chords  and  do  not  occur  again.  The 
second  subject  in  D  flat  is  less  drastic,  less 
fantastic,  and  also  less  powerful.  There  is 
epical  breadth  in  that  beginning,  and  at  each 
reiteration  it  grows  bigger,  more  awful,  until 
it  overflows  the  limits  of  the  keyboard.  That 
strange  intermezzo  in  A,  which  comes  before 
the  mazourka,  is  an  enigma  for  most  of  us. 
It  seems  at  first  irrelevant,  but  its  orchestral 
intent  is  manifest,  and  it  leads  to  the  D  flat 
theme  now  transposed  to  C  sharp  minor  and 
full  of  the  blackest  despair.  If  you  play  the 
thirty-second  notes  in  octaves  more  color 
is  obtained.  The  mazourka  which  follows 
tempted  Liszt  to  extravagant  panegyric.  Its 
brace  of  notes,  thirds  and  sixths,  are  lovely  in 
accent  and  hue,  but  do  not  become  languish- 
ing in  your  tempo,  or  the  episode  turns 
sugary  and  sentimental.  With  an  almost 
ferocious  burst  the  polonaise  is  reached,  and 
again  begins  that  elemental  chant,  which 
grows  huger  in  rancorous  woe  until  the 
bottom  of  the  pit  is  reached,  and  then  with- 
out a  gleam  of  light  the  work  ends  in  a  coda, 
169 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

with  mutterings  like  curses  of  the  polonaise 
theme,  and  only  in  the  very  last  bar  comes 
the  relief  of  a  crackling  and  brilliant  F  sharp 
in  octaves. 

Pathologic  in  a  sense  it  is,  for  it  makes  its 
primary  appeal  to  the  nerves,  but  it  is  won- 
derful music,  though  depressing.  It  hurts 
the  very  pulp  of  one's  sensibilities,  yet  it  is 
never  sensational.  I  am  reminded  of  Salvator 
Rosa's  rugged,  sullen  and  barbarous  land- 
scapes with  a  modern  figure  in  the  fore- 
ground, agitated,  distracted,  suicidal;  in  a 
word,  something  that  paint  and  canvas  can 
never  suggest. 

The  nocturnes  are  sometimes  beneath  con- 
tempt. When  I  hear  a  Chopin  nocturne 
played  on  the  fiddle  or  'cello  I  murmur 
complainingly  as  I  listen,  for  it  irresistibly 
reminds  me  of  degraded  beauty.  There  are 
exceptions.  The  vandals  have  vouchsafed 
us  the  one  in  C  sharp  minor,  the  gloomiest 
and  grandest  of  Chopin's  moody  canvases. 
Its  middle  section  is  Beethovian  in  breadth. 
Ah  !  my  friend,  why  do  you  take  this  piano 
composer  for  a  weakling?  Why  give  him 
over  to  the  tough  mercies  of  the  Young  Per- 
son? I  would  sentence  to  a  vat  of  boiling 
oil,  that  is  if  I  were  the  Sultan  of  Life,  any 
woman  who  presumed  to  touch  a  note  of 
170 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

Chopin.  They  have  decked  the  most  virile 
spirit  of  the  age  in  petticoats,  and  upon  his 
head  they  have  placed  a  Parisian  bonnet. 
They  murdered  him  while  he  was  alive,  and 
they  have  hacked  and  cut  at  him  since  his 
death.  If  women  must  play  the  piano  let 
them  stick  to  Bach  and  Beethoven.  They 
cannot  hurt  those  gentlemen  with  their  seduc- 
tions and  blandishments,  their  amblings  and 
jiggings.  There  are  several  other  nocturnes 
that  will  never  appeal  to  hoi  polloi.  The 
noble  one  in  C  minor,  the  fruity  one  in  B  and 
the  one  in  E,  form  a  triad  of  matchless  music. 
They  are  not  popular.  The  wonder-child 
that  came  to  us  through  the  pink  gates  of  the 
dawn  and  was  rocked  to  rhythmic  dreams  in 
the  berceuse  has  grown  to  be  a  brat  of  horrid 
mien  and  muscular  proportions.  I  will  have 
none  of  it.  Its  banal  visage  is  cherished  in 
conservatories.  Long  may  it  howl,  but  not 
for  me ! 

The  scherzi,  the  preludes,  you  cry  !  Ah  ! 
at  last  we  are  getting  upon  solid  ground. 
The  twenty-five  preludes  alone  would  make 
good  Chopin's  claim  to  immortality.  Such 
range,  such  vision,  such  humanity !  All 
shades  of  feeling  are  divined,  all  depths  and 
altitudes  of  passion  explored.  If  all  Chopin, 
all  music,  were  to  be  destroyed,  I  should 
171 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

plead  for  the  preludes.  The  cameo  stilhiess 
of  some  of  them  is  as  soft-spoken  sentences 
in  a  cloister.  Religious  truly,  but  these 
appeal  less  to  me  than  those  thunder-riven 
visions  in  D  minor,  in  B  flat  minor,  in  F 
minor,  in  E  flat  minor.  Surpassingly  sweet 
is  the  elegiac  prelude  in  B  flat.  It  is  greater 
than  any  of  the  Chopin  nocturnes.  Number 
two,  with  its  almost  brutal  quality  and  enig- 
matic beginning,  is  for  a  rainy  day  —  a  day 
when  the  soul  is  racked  by  doubts  and  de- 
feats. It  is  shuddersome  and  sinister.  About 
it  hovers  the  grisly  something  which  we  all 
fear  in  the  dark  but  dare  not  definef  A  ray 
of  sunshine,  but  a  sun  that  slants  in  the  west, 
is  the  prelude  in  G.  Why  detail  these  mar- 
vels in  miniature,  these  great  and  cunningly 
wrought  thoughts  ? 

The  embroideries  of  the  barcarolle  —  a 
more  fully  developed  and  dramatic  nocturne 
—  and  the  bolero  are  both  more  Polish  than 
Itahan  or  Spanish.  The  fantaisie,  opus  49, 
is  considered  by  many  to  be  Chopin's  most 
perfect  work.  The  grave,  march-like  intro- 
duction, the  climbing  and  insistent  arpeggio 
figures  in  triplets,  the  great  song  in  F  minor, 
followed  by  the  beautiful  episode  in  douiale 
notes  and  the  climax  of  amazing  power  and 
almost  brutality,  give  us  glimpses  of  the  new 
172 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

Chopin.  There  is  dev^elopment,  but  only  of 
tonahty  —  if  such  may  be  called  development 
—  and  the  lento  sostenuto  is  curt  and  very 
sweet.  The  end  is  impressive.  The  entire 
composition  is  larger  in  scope,  its  phrases 
fuller  breathed,  and  there  is  a  massiveness 
absent  from  much  of  the  master's  music.  To 
my  own  way  of  thinking  this  fantaisie,  with 
the  F  sharp  minor  polonaise,  the  F  minor 
ballade,  the  C  sharp  minor  and  B  minor 
scherzi,  the  D  minor  prelude,  the  sonatas  in 
B  flat  minor  and  B  minor,  and  the  C  minor 
study  (opus  25),  are  Chopin  at  the  top  of  his 
powers. 

II 

Frederic  Chopin  bequeathed  to  the  world 
six  solo  scherzi.  The  four  that  comprise  a 
group  are  opus  20,  in  B  minor,  published 
February,  1835;  opus  31,  in  B  flat  minor, 
published  December,  1837;  opus  39,  in  C 
sharp  minor,  published  October,  1840,  and 
opus  54,  in  E  major,  published  December, 
1843.  The  other  two  are  to  be  found  in  his 
second  sonata,  opus  35,  and  his  third  sonata, 
opus  58.  They  are  in  the  respective  keys  of 
E  flat  minor  and  E  flat  major.  These  six 
compositions  are  the  finest  evidences  of  Cho- 
pin's originality,  variety,  power  and  deli- 
173 


MEZZOTINTS    IN    MODERN   UVSIC 

cacy.  The  scherzo  is  not  his  in  ertion  — 
Beethoven  and  Mendelssohn  anticipated  him 
—  but  he  took  the  form,  remodelled  and 
filled  it  with  a  surprisingly  novel  content, 
although  not  altering  its  three-four  measure. 
We  feel  the  humor  of  the  Beethoven  scherzo, 
its  swing,  robustness  and  at  times  rude  jollity. 
In  Mendelssohn  one  enjoys  the  lightness, 
velocity  and  finish  of  his  scherzando  moods. 
They  contain*,  strictly  speaking,  more  of  the 
truer  scherzo  idea  than  Chopin's.  Mendels- 
sohn's delicate  sentiment  of  joyousness  came 
from  the  early  Italian  masters  of  the  piano. 
Rossini  voiced  this  when  he  said,  after  hear- 
ing a  capriccio  of  Felix  the  Feminine,  "  Ca 
sent  de  Scarlatti."  Yet  the  Mendelssohn 
piano  pieces  of  this  character  are  finely  con- 
sidered efforts,  full  of  a  certain  gracious  life 
and  a  surface  skimming  of  sentiment,  like  the 
curved  flight  of  a  thin  bird  over  shallow 
waters. 

But  we  enter  a  terrible  and  a  beautiful 
domain  in  the  Chopin  schcrzi.  Two  only 
have  the  lightness  of  touch,  clarity  of  atmos- 
phere and  sweet  gayety  of  the  veritable 
scherzo.  The  other  four  are  fierce,  grave, 
sardonic,  demoniacal,  ironic,  passionate,  fiery, 
hysterical  and  most  melancholy.  In  some 
the  moods  are  almost  pathologic ;  in  some 
174 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

enigmatic ;  in  all,  the  moods  are  magical. 
The  scherzo  in  E,  opus  54,  can  be  described 
by  no  better  or  more  commonplace  a  word 
than  delightful.  It  is  delightful,  sunny  music, 
and  its  swiftness,  directness  and  sweep  are 
compelling.  The  five  preluding  bars  of  half 
notes,  unisono,  at  once  strike  the  keynote  of 
optimism  and  sweet  faith.  What  follows  is 
the  ruffling  of  the  tree-tops  by  warm  south 
winds.  The  upward  little  flight  in  E,  begin- 
ning at  the  seventeenth  bar  and  in  major 
thirds  and  fourths,  has  been  boldly  utilized 
by  Saint-Saens  in  the  scherzo  of  his  G  minor 
piano  concerto.  The  fanciful  embroidery  of 
the  single  finger  passages  is  not  opaque  as 
in  other  of  this  master's  compositions.  A 
sparkling,  bubbling  clarity,  freedom,  fresh- 
ness, characterizes  this  scherzo  so  seldom 
heard  in  our  concert  rooms.  In  emotional 
content  it  is  not  deep ;  it  lies  well  within  the 
categories  of  the  elegant  and  the  capricious. 
It  contains  on  its  fourth  page  an  episode  in 
E  which  at  first  blush  suggests  the  theme  of 
the  valse  in  A  flat,  opus  42,  with  its  inter- 
minglement  of  duple  and  triple  rhythms. 
The  piu  lento  further  on,  in  C  sharp  minor, 
has  little  sadness.  It  is  but  the  blur  of  a 
passing  cloud  that  shadows  with  its  fleecy 
edges  the  wind-swept  moorland.  This  scherzo 
175 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

in  E  is  emphatically  a  mood  of  joyousness, 
as  joyous  as  the  witty,  sensitive  Pole  ever 
allowed  himself  to  be.  Its  coda  is  not  so 
forceful  as  the  usual  Chopin  coda,  and  there 
is  a  dazzling  flutter  of  silvery  scale  at  the 
end.  It  is  a  charming  work.  Closely  allied 
to  it  in  general  sentiment  is  the  E  flat  scherzo 
in  the  B  minor  sonata.  It  is  largely  ara- 
besque and  its  ornamentation  is  genial,  though 
not  ingenious.  To  me  this  scherzo  savors 
somewhat  of  Weber.  It  might  go  on  forever. 
The  resolution  is  not  intellectual  —  is  purely 
one  of  tonality.  The  thought  is  tenuous;  it 
is  a  light,  highly  embroidered  relief  after  the 
first  movement  of  the  sonata.  The  trio  in  B 
is  not  particularly  noteworthy.  Truly  a  salon 
scherzo  and  challenges  Mendelssohn  on  his 
native  heath.  It  must  be  considered  as  an 
intermezzo  and  also  as  a  prelude  to  the  lyric 
measures  of  the  beautiful  largo  that  follows. 

We  get  on  firm  and  familiar  footing  when 
the  first  page  of  the  B  flat  minor  scherzo  is 
opened.  Who  has  not  heard  with  awe  those 
arched  questioning  triplets  which  Chopin 
could  never  get  his  pupils  to  play  sufficiently 
tombe?  "  It  must  be  a  charnel  house,"  he 
told  De  Lenz.  These  vaulted  phrases  have 
become  banal.  Alas  !  this  scherzo,  like  the 
lovely  A  flat  ballade,  has  been  done  to  a 
176 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

cruel  death.  Yet  how  fresh,  how  vigorous, 
how  abounding  with  sweetness  and  light 
when  it  falls  from  the  fingers  of  a  master ! 
It  is  a  Byronic  poem,  "  so  tender,  so  bold,  so 
as  full  of  love  as  of  scorn,"  to  quote  Schu- 
mann. Has  Chopin  ever  penned  a  more 
delicious  song  than  the  one  in  D  flat,  with 
its  straying  over  the  borderlands  of  G  flat? 
It  is  the  high  noon  of  love,  life  and  happi- 
ness ;  the  dark  bud  of  the  introduction  has 
burst  into  a  perfect  flowering,  and  what  mira- 
cles of  scent,  color,  shape  we  seize !  The 
section  in  A  has  the  quality  of  great  art  — 
great,  questioning,  but  sane,  noble  art.  It  is 
serious  to  severity,  and  yet  how  penetrating 
in  perfume  ! 

The  excursion  in  C  sharp  minor  is  an 
awakening  of  the  wondering  dream,  but  it 
is  balanced  ;  it  is  healthy.  No  suggestion  of 
the  pallid  morbidities  of  the  other  Chopin. 
And  how  supremely  welded  is  the  style  with 
the  subject !  What  masterly  writing  and  it 
lies  in  the  very  heart  of  the  piano  !  A  hun- 
dred generations  may  not  improve  on  these 
pages.  Then,  fearful  that  he  has  dwelt  too 
long  upon  the  idea,  Chopin  breaks  away 
into  the  key  of  E,  and  one  of  those  bursts 
into  clear  sky  follows.  After  the  repetition 
comes   the   working-out   section,  and,  while 


MEZZOTINTS    IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

ingenious  and  effective,  it  is  always  in  the 
development  that  he  is  at  his  weakest.  The 
Olympian  aloofness  of  Beethoven,  Chopin 
had  not.  He  cannot  survey  his  material 
from  all  points.  He  is  a  great  composer, 
but  he  is  also  a  great  pianist.  He  nursed  his 
themes  with  wonderful  constructive  frugality; 
the  instrument  often  checked  his  imagination. 
There  is  a  logic  in  this  exposition,  but  it  is 
piano  logic  and  not  always  music  logic.  A 
certain  straining  after  brilliancy,  a  falling  off 
in  the  spontaneous  urge  of  the  early  pages 
force  us  to  feel  happy  when  the  first  triplet 
figure  returns.  The  coda  is  brilliantly  strong. 
This  scherzo  will  remain  the  favored  one.  It 
is  not  cryptic  and  repellent  like  the  two  in  B 
minor  and  C  sharp  minor,  and  is  a  perennial 
joy  to  pupil  and  public  alike. 

We  now  trench  upon  a  sacred  and  not 
often  explored  territory  of  the  Chopin  music. 
The  scherzo  in  E  flat  minor  is  one  of  the 
most  powerful  of  the  six.  To  play  it  effec- 
tively one  needs  breadth  of  style,  a  heroic 
spirit  and  fingers  and  wrists  of  steel.  The 
tremendous  crescendo  in  one  bar  taxes  the 
strength  of  most  pianists.  The  composition 
has  something  elemental  about  it.  It  is  true 
storm  music,  and  the  whistling  of  the  wind 
in  the  chromatic  successions  of  chords  of  the 
178- 


THE  GREATER  CH05IN 

sixth  has  an  eerie  effect  on  one's  nerves. 
None  of  the  Chopin  scherzi  stir  me  as  this 
one.  There  is  menacing  gloom  in  the  second 
bar,  and  the  rush  and  grandeur  of  the  move- 
ment take  my  breath  away.  The  bhssful 
song  in  G  flat  is  not  uninterrupted  bhss. 
There  is  a  threatening  undercurrent,  as  if 
the  howHng  tempest  might  return  ;  it  does, 
and  how  originally  Chopin  manages  this ! 
The  descending  octaves,  which  seem  to  carry 
us  to  the  mouth  of  hell,  are  burst  in  upon  by 
the  first  stormy  theme,  and  again  we  are 
madly  projected  through  space,  a  victim  of 
the  elements.  Defiance,  satanic  pride,  the 
majesty  of  the  microcosm,  a  spiritual  chal- 
lenge to  fate  are  all  here.  The  lulling,  lovely 
lines  of  the  piu  lento  steal  in  again  and  the 
curtain  rings  down  on  a  great  picture  of 
passion  and  pain. 

Chopin's  first  scherzo  in  B  minor  bears  an 
early  opus  number.  It  is  his  twentieth  work 
—  the  most  sombre,  yet  the  most  shrill  and 
hysterical  of  the  scherzi.  It  is  in  his  most 
ironic,  yet  most  reckless,  vein  ;  Chopin  throw- 
ing himself  to  the  very  winds  of  remorse.  A 
terrible  mood,  a  ^Manfred  mood,  a  torturing 
mood,  A  soul-shriek  from  the  first  chord  to 
the  last,  with  one  dream  inclosed  within  its 
gates  of  brass,  it  reminds  one  of  the  struggles 
179 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

of  an  imprisoned  soul  beating  with  wounded 
palms  its  prison  door.  It  is  the  unhappiest, 
the  most  riotous  of  Chopin's  works  and 
suffers  from  prolixity.  Its  keynote  is  too 
tense  for  the  da  capos  marked  by  the  com- 
poser, and  unsuited  for  latter-day  taste. 
Some  virtuosi  play  this  scherzo  without  the 
repeats,  and  the  piece  gains  greatly.  It  is  so 
harsh,  so  drastic,  that  the  wondrous  melody 
in  B,  with  its  lapping,  lilting  tenths  —  "the 
sweet  slumber  of  the  moonlight  on  the  hills  " 
—  after  the  tragic  strain,  comes  like  a  bene- 
diction. This  scherzo  has  almost  had  a 
special  message.  Chopin,  like  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson,  was  afflicted  with  weak  health, 
was  slender  of  frame,  but  his  spirit  was  brave 
as  the  lion's.  Both  men  could  write  terrible 
things,  even  though  they  could  not  compass 
them.  The  sense  of  impotence,  of  stifled 
longings,  fills  this  scherzo  with  inarticulate 
moans  and  bcwailings.  What  a  life  tragedy 
is  the  opus  20 ! 

The  arabesque-like  figure  after  the  eight 
bar  introduction  —  muted  bars  some  of  them, 
as  was  Chopin's  wont — has  a  certain  spirit- 
ual likeness  to  the  principal  figure  in  the  C 
sharp  minor  fantaisie-impromptu.  But  in- 
stead of  the  ductile  triplets,  as  in  the  bass  of 
the  impromptu,  we  divide  the  figure  in  the 
180 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

scherzo  between  the  two  hands,  and  the 
harshness  of  the  mood  is  emphasized  by  the 
anticipatory  chord  in  the  left  hand.  The 
vitahty  of  the  first  page  of  this  scherzo  is 
marvellous.  The  questioning  chords  at  the 
close  of  the  section  are  as  imaginative  as  any 
passages  Chopin  ever  wrote.  The  half  notes 
E  and  the  up-leaping  appogiatura  are  also 
evidences  of  his  originality  in  minor  details. 
These  occur  just  before  the  modulation  into 
the  lyric  theme  in  B  and  with  a  slight  change 
just  at  the  dash  into  the  coda.  The  second 
section,  an  agitato,  contains  some  knotty 
harmonic  problems.  But  they  must  be 
skimmed  over  at  tempestuous  speed,  else 
cacophony.  Bold  here  is  Chopin  to  excess, 
as  if  his  spirit  would  knock  at  the  very  gate 
of  heaven,  but  the  surge  and  thunder  waxes, 
wanes,  wastes  itself;  the  soul  has  stormed 
itself  to  slumber.  The  molto  piu  lento  of 
this  scherzo  is,  by  consent,  one  of  Chopin's 
masterpieces.  It  is  written  in  the  richly 
colored,  luscious  key  of  B  major.  It  is  so 
fragrant,  so  replete  with  woven  enchantment, 
that  the  air  becomes  divinely  dense.  With 
broken  tenths,  Chopin  produces  subtle  effects 
It  is  all  a  miracle  of  tender  beauty,  and  is  like 
some  old  world  Armida's  garden,  when  time 
was  young  and  men  and  women  lived  to  love 
iSi 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

and  not  to  sorrow.  It  is  only  comparable  to 
the  B  major  episode  in  the  B  minor  etude 
or  to  the  Tuberose  nocturne  of  the  same 
key.  Mark  how  the  composer  returns  to  his 
first  savage  mood  !  It  is  a  picture  of  con- 
trasted violence.  But  beware  of  the  da  capo. 
It  grows  wearisome.  Far  better  repeat  the 
first  section  only  and  attack  the  coda  — 
the  finest  coda  ever  made  by  the  master.  I 
know  nothing  of  his  that  can  equal  its  bold' 
ness,  its  electrifying  ride  across  country,  its 
almost  barbaric  impetuosity.  The  heavy 
accentuation  on  the  first  note  of  every  bar 
must  not  blind  one's  rhythmical  sense  to  the 
second  beat  in  the  left  hand,  which  is  likewise 
accented.  This  produces  a  mixed  rhythm 
that  greatly  adds  to  the  general  murkiness 
and  despair  of  the  finale.  Those  daring 
-zhordal  dissonances,  so  logical,  so  effective, 
low  they  must  have  agitated  and  scratched 
.he  nerves  of  Chopin's  contemporaries  !  And 
they  must  be  vigorously  insisted  upon;  no 
veiled  half  lights,  for  the  worst  is  over;  the 
ships  are  burned ;  nothing  remains  but  the 
awful  catastrophe.  To  his  death  goes  this 
musical  Childe  Roland,  and  the  dark  tower 
crumbles  and  creation  crumbles  at  the  close. 
The  scherzo  ends  in  chaos,  overwhelming, 
supreme ! 

182 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

I  think  it  was  Tausig  who  first  taught  his 
pupils  to  use  the  interlocked  octaves  at  the 
close  instead  of  the  chromatic  scale  in  unison. 
I  suppose  Liszt  did  it  before  anyone  else ;  he 
always  thought  of  such  things,  even  if  the 
composer  did  not.  I  doubt  not  but  that 
Chopin  would  have  objected  to  the  innova- 
tion, although  it  seems  admissible.  After 
the  furious  Hercules-vein  of  the  coda,  to 
finish  with  a  chromatic  scale  sounds  tame 
and  ineffectual. 

Even  though  the  sneer,  the  peevishness  and 
fretfulness  of  a  restless,  unhappy,  sick-brained 
man  disturb  it,  the  C  sharp   minor  scherzo  is 
yet  the  most  dramatic,  the  most  finely  moulded 
of  the    six.       It    is    capricious    to    madness, 
but  the  dramatic  quality  is  unmistakable.     It 
seethes   with   scorn,    if  such   an   extravagant 
figure  is  permissible.     It  is  all  extravagance, 
fire  and  fury,  but  it  signifies  something.     Just 
a    word    about    the  tempo.     Nearly    all    the 
scherzi   are   marked  presto,  but   it  should  be 
remembered  that  it  is  the  presto  of  Chopin's 
day,  and,  above  all,  of  Chopin's  piano  action. 
The   action  of  the  pianos  of  his  time,  espe- 
cially of  the  Pleyel  piano,  was  superlatively 
light  and  elastic.     The  Chopin  tempi  should 
be   moderated,   as   Theodore    Kullak  has   so 
often    insisted.      You    lose    in   ponderability 
183 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

and  dignity  by  adopting  the  swift,  old-fash- 
ioned time  markings.  The  first  part  of  the 
B  minor  scherzo  may  be  taken  at  a  presto  — 
a  comfortable  presto,  the  scherzo  in  E  must 
be  played  presto ;  also  the  one  in  E  flat ;  but 
where  the  thought  takes  on  a  graver  hue, 
where  majesty  of  utterance  or  nobility  of 
phrase  are  to  be  considered,  moderate  your 
pulses,  I  conjure  you,  master  pianists.  The 
C  sharp  minor  scherzo  is  an  especial  sufferer 
from  a  too  hurried  speed.  The  architectonics 
are  consequently  blurred,  details  jumbled  and 
the  indescribable  power  of  the  piece  lost. 
And  if  you  start  out  with  such  a  fiery  presto, 
where  will  }'0U  get  your  contrast  of  speed  in 
the  coda,  which  should  be  fairly  shot  out  from 
your  finger-tips?  Or  would  you  emulate 
Schumann  and  start  in  with  a  prestissimo 
possible  and  follow  with  still  more  of  a  pres- 
tissimo? You  remember  his  sonata?  Try  a 
presto  by  all  means,  but  remember  the  heavier 
tone  mass  of  the  modern  piano.  This  scherzo 
is  a  massive  composition,  yet  full  of  fitful 
starts  and  surprises.  The  bits  of  chorale  in 
the  trio  are  hugely  Chopin  as  to  fioritura 
and  harmonic  basis.  More  than  all  the  others 
this  one  reminds  you  of  some  pulse-stirring 
drama.  It  is  audacious  and  declamatory. 
Even  in  the  meno  mosso  it  never  tarries,  and 
184 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

the  coda  is  built  of  one  of  those  familiar 
figures  cumulative  in  effect  through  repeti- 
tion and  all  written' eminently  for  the  instru- 
ment. The  scherzo  in  C  sharp  minor  is 
grotesque;  it  is  original.  It  has  affinities 
with  the  darkling  conceptions  of  Poe,  Cole- 
ridge, Hoffman,  and  is  Heine-like  in  its  bitter 
irony.  It  is  like  some  fantastic,  sombre  pile 
of  disordered  farouche  architecture,  and  about 
it  hovers  perpetual  night  and  the  unspeakable 
and  despairing  things  that  live  in  the  night. 
It  is  a  tale  from  Poe's  "iron  bound,  melan- 
choly volume  of  the  magi,"  and  on  its  face  is 
written  the  word  Spleen.  Chopin  might  have 
said  with  Poe :  "  Then  I  grew  angry  and 
cursed,  with  the  curse  of  Spleen,  the  river 
and  the  lilies  and  the  wind  and  the  forest 
and  the  heavens  and  the  thunder  and  the 
sighs  of  the  water  lilies.  And  they  became 
accursed  and  were  still.  And  the  moon 
ceased  to  totter  up  its  pathway  to  heaven — 
and  the  thunder  died  away — and  the  light- 
ning did  not  flash — and  the  clouds  hung 
motionless — and  the  waters  sunk  to  their 
level  and  remained — and  the  trees  ceased 
to  rock — and  the  water  lilies  sighed  no  more 
— and  the  murmur  was  heard  no  longer 
from  among  them,  nor  any  shadow  of  sound 
throughout  the  vast  illimitable  desert.  And 
185 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

I  looked  upon  the  characters  of  the  rock,  and 
they  were  changed,  and  the  characters  were 
Spleen." 

All  this  was  told  in  the  dreary  region  in 
Lybia  by  the  borders  of  the  Zaire,  where  the 
waters  have  a  sickly  and  saffron  hue.  But 
Foe  wTote  the  word  Silence,  which  I  have 
changed  to  Spleen.  Three  of  the  Chopin 
scherzi  are  the  very  outpourings  of  a  soul 
charged  with  the  spiritual  spleen  of  this  age 
of  disillusionment. 


Ill 

Mr.  Krehbiel  once  wrote,  in  discussing  the 
question  of  the  re-scoring  of  the  Chopin  con- 
certos :  "  It  is  more  than  anything  else  a 
question  of  taste  that  is  involved  in  this  mat- 
ter and,  as  so  often  happens,  individual  lik- 
ngs,  rather  than  artistic  principles,  will  carry 
the  day." 

It  is  admitted  at  the  outset  by  all  musicians 
that  the  orchestrations  of  the  two  concertos 
in  E  and  F  minor  of  Chopin  are  meagre  and 
conventional,  not  to  say  hackneyed. 

Written  in  the  pre-Beethoven  style  they 
simply  rob  the  piano  soli  of  their  incompara- 
ble beauty,  become  a  clog  instead  of  an  aid, 
and  have  done  more  to  prejudice  musicians 
186 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

against  Chopin  than  any  other  compositions 
he  has  written.  That  they  were  penned  by 
Chopin  himself  is  more  than  doubtful,  as  his 
knowledge  of  instrumentation  was  somewhat 
slender,  and  the  amazing  fact  will  always  re- 
main that  while  his  piano  compositions  are 
ever  fresh  and  far  removed  from  all  that  is  trite 
or  commonplace,  the  orchestration  of  his  con- 
certos is  irksome  and  uninteresting  to  a  degree. 
In  both  concertos  the  opening  tuttis  are  long 
and  take  off  all  the  cream  and  richness  of  the 
soli  that  follow. 

The  tone  of  the  piano  can  scarcely  vie  with 
that  of  the  orchestra,  yet  in  the  first  move- 
ment of  the  E  minor  concerto  the  lovely, 
plaintive  solo  of  the  first  subject  in  E  minor 
is  deliberately  played  through ;  the  audience 
and  the  pianist  must  patiently  wait  until  it  is 
finished  and  then,  like  an  absurd  anti-climax, 
the  piano  breaks  in,  repeating  the  same  story, 
only  dwarfed  and  colorless  in  comparison. 
In  the  Tausig  version  of  the  E  minor  open- 
ing the  tutti  differs,  in  that  it  omits  entirely 
the  piano  solo,  contenting  itself  after  the  first 
theme,  with  the  small  secondary  subject  in  E 
minor  that  is  afterward  played  by  the  piano. 
Then  come  the  rich  opening  E  minor  chords 
on  the  piano,  and  we  are  once  more  plunged 
in  medias  res  without  further  ado. 
187 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN   MUSIC 

The  orchestral  tutti  before  the  piano  enters 
in  C  major,  is  in  the  Tausig  version  very  efifec- 
tive  despite  the  dreaded  trombones.  It  must 
be  admitted  that  here  we  get  some  Meister- 
singer  color  which  is  —  so  the  story  runs  — 
because  Wagner  had  a  hand  in  the  arrange- 
ment. Certainly  Tausig  submitted  it  to  him 
for  judgment. 

The  orchestral  canvas  is  broadened,  the 
tints  brighter,  deeper,  richer  and  offering  a 
better  background  for  the  jewelled  passage 
work  of  the  piano. 

The  brass  choir  is  so  balanced  as  to  float 
the  staccato  tone  of  the  piano,  giving  it  depth 
and  sonority. 

Take  for  example  the  horn  pedal-point  in 
E,  which  occurs  in  the  middle  of  the  romanza 
where  the  piano  has  the  delicate,  crystalline 
chromatic  cadenza  of  three  bars  only.  What 
a  stroke  of  genius  for  Tausig  to  introduce  the 
brass  here  !  It  floats  the  fairy-like  progres- 
sions of  the  solo  and  in  what  ethereal  hues ! 
But  orthodox  pianists  will  say  this  is  not 
Chopin,  and  raise  their  Czerny-hands  in 
horror. 

The  changes  in  the  piano  parts  of  the  first 
movement  of  the  E  minor  concerto  are  effec- 
tive, they  in  no  sense  destroy  the  integrity  of 
the  ideas ;  where  there  is  a  chromatic  scale  in 
i88 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

unison,  Tausig  breaks  it  into  double  sixths  and 
fourths  and  chordal  figures  which  are  not 
simpHfications  or  mere  pyrotechnics  but  de- 
cidedly more  "  pianistic  "  and  brilliant. 

One  thing  seems  to  be  forgotten  in  discuss- 
ing Chopin  piano  literature  —  his  music  is 
more  than  abreast  of  our  times.  Consider 
the  fantasy,  opus  49,  the  scherzi,  the  ballades, 
the  sonatas  —  the  two  later  ones  —  the  etudes 
and  it  will  be  seen  that  the  figures  are  modern 
even  to  novelty;  that  Schumann,  Liszt  and 
Rubinstein  borrowed,  even  if  they  amplified, 
and  Tausig,  if  he  did  alter  a  few  details, 
did  not  commit  a  sin  against  good  taste. 
Carl  Tausig  of  all  virtuosi  penetrated  deeper 
into  the  meanings  of  the  Polish  tone-poet, 
interpreting  his  music  in  an  incomparable 
manner. 

As  regards  the  coda  of  the  first  movement 
of  the  E  minor  concerto  Tausig  simply  takes 
the  awkward  trill  from  the  left  hand  and  gives 
it  to  the  'celli  and  contrabasso  and  the  piano 
plays  the  passage  in  unison.  Most  pianists, 
Rosenthal  excepted,  acknowledge  that  the 
trill  is  both  distracting  and  ineffective. 

The  chromatic  work  at  the  end  of  this 
movement  is  broad  and  infinitely  more  klavier- 
massig  than  the  older  version,  the  piano  clos- 
ing at  the  same  moment  with  the  orchestra, 
i8q 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

the  audience  not  being  compelled  to  listen 
to  cadences  of  the  Hummel  t}'pe  to  the  bitter 
end.  The  piano  part  of  the  second  move- 
ment is  hardly  touched  by  Tausig ;  it  could 
not  be  improved,  but  the  orchestration  is  so 
spiritualized  and  so  delicately  colored  that 
even  a  purist  may  not  groan  in  disapproval. 
Against  the  Tausig  version  of  the  rondo 
the  war  of  complaint  is  frequently  raised. 
"What,  he  dares  to  tamper  with  the  very 
notes,  introducing  sixteenths  where  Chopin 
wrote  eighths !  "  Yes,  this  is  true,  but  what 
an  improvement !  How  much  brighter  and 
livelier  the  rhythm  sounds ;  how  much  more 
joyful  and  elastic  !  and  when  the  piano  part 
enters  it  is  with  added  zest  we  listen  to  its 
cheerful  song.  It  is  a  relief  too,  when  the 
flute  and  oboe  take  up  the  theme,  the  piano 
contenting  itself  with  a  trill.  The  other 
changes  in  the  solo  part  in  this  movement  are 
all  in  admirable  taste  and  effective  but  they 
are  not  easier  to  play  than  the  original.  The 
movement  loses  none  of  its  freshness  by  the 
additions,  while  it  gains  in  tone  and  dignity. 
The  octaves  at  the  end  destroy  in  some  degree 
the  euphony  but  add  in  brilliancy.  It  is 
seldom  one  hears  them  played  with  clearness 
and  lightness ;  but  when  pounded  out  they 
become  distressingly  monotonous. 
190 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

If  a  concerto  is  an  harmonious  relationship 
between  the  solo  instrument  and  the  orches- 
tra then  the  Tausig  version  of  the  E  minor 
concerto  fulfils  perfectly  the  idea.  Of  course 
if  a  poor  conductor  who  wishes  to  make  a 
scandal  out  of  each  tutti  takes  hold  of  the 
work  and  a  mediocre  pianist  attempts  the 
solo  part,  critics  may  indeed  carp  and  say 
that  Tausig  has  spoiled  the  concerto  with  his 
additions. 

The  argument  that  holds  good  in  the  case 
of  added  accompaniments  of  Robert  Franz  to 
Handel  is  the  same  here  but  best  of  all 
remains  the  unalterable  fact  that  the  Tausig 
version  is  more  effective  and  what  pianist  can 
resist  such  an  argument !  Tausig  in  the  E 
minor  and  Richard  Burmeister  in  the  F  minor 
concerto  have  given  these  two  works  of 
Chopin  a  better  frame ;  the  picture  appears 
clearer  and  more  beautiful,  details  becoming 
more  significant  making  both  works  better 
understood. 

Mr.  Burmeister  has  not  only  re-orches- 
trated the  F  minor  concerto,  but  his  cadenza 
at  the  close  of  the  first  movement  —  a  cadenza 
that  embodies  in  an  admirable  manner  the 
spirit  of  its  themes  —  in  reality  supplies  a 
missing  coda.  There  are  also  some  impor- 
tant changes  in  the  last  movement.  Mr. 
191 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

Krehbicl  justly  says,  Tausig's  emendations 
have  greatly  added  "to  the  stature  of  the 
concerto." 


IV 

George  Mathias  has  sketched  Chopin  in  a 
few  sincere,  exquisite  strokes.  His  alluring, 
hesitating,  gracious,  feminine  manner  and  air 
of  supreme  distinction  are  touched  upon,  and 
M.  Mathias  —  dear,  charming  old  gentleman, 
how  well  I  remember  him  in  1879!  —  speaks 
of  Chopin's  shoulders,  held  high  after  the 
style  of  the  Poles.  Chopin  often  met  Kalk- 
brenner,  his  antipodes  in  everything  but 
breeding.  Chopin's  coat  was  buttoned  high 
but  the  buttons  were  black ;  Kalkbrenner's 
were  gold.  And  how  Chopin  disliked  the 
pompous  old  pianist,  with  his  airs  and  stingi- 
ness. As  Mathias  writes  with  glee  of  the 
idea  of  Chopin's  profiting  from  the  instruc- 
tions of  Kalkbrenner: 

"Je  crois  qu'il  n'y  a  eu  qu'une  lecon  de 
prise,"   he  adds  most  emphatically. 

At  Louis  Viardot's  Chopin  met  Thalberg, 
and  that  great  master  of  the  arpeggio  and 
also  of  one  of  the  finest  singing  touches  ever 
heard  on  a  keyboard,  received  with  haughty 
humility  the  Polish  pianist's  comphments,  not 
192 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

quite  believing  in  their  sincerity.  Perhaps 
he  was  right,  for  Chopin  made  mock  of  his 
mechanical  style  when  his  back  was  turned  ; 
his  imitation  of  the  ]Moise  fantasy  being 
astoundingly  funny,   according  to  Mathias. 

"  What  a  jury  of  pianists,"  he  cries,  "  in  the 
old  days  of  the  Salle  Erard  !  Doehler,  Drey- 
schock,  Leopold  de  ]\Ieyer,  Zimmerman,  Thal- 
berg,  Kalkbrenner  —  how  they  all  curiously 
examined  the  Polish  black  swan,  with  his 
original  style  and  extraordinary  technique  !  " 
A  row  over  Liszt's  transcription  of  Beethoven's 
Adelaide  is  mentioned. 

And  Chopin,  pianist?  He  played  as  he 
composed  —  in  an  absolutely  unapproach- 
able manner.  He  would  doubtless  be  shocked 
to  hear  his  music  in  the  hands  of  some  modern 
Sandow  of  the  keyboard,  torn  into  unmelodic 
splinters,  yet  every  splinter  exhaling  a  melo- 
dic sound  under  the  furious  fingers  of  the 
misguided  pianist.  Alathias  examines  his 
rubato  and  settles  the  much  debated  question, 
although  Liszt's  happy  illustration  of  the  un- 
shaken tree  with  the  shimmering  leaves,  still 
holds  good.  Chopin  admired  Weber.  Their 
natures  were  alike  aristocratic.  Once  after 
Mathias  had  played  the  noble,  chivalrous 
sonata  in  A  flat  Chopin  exclaimed: 

"  Un  ange  passait  dans  le  ciel." 
13  193 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

Mathias  first  knew  Chopin  in  1840  in  the 
rue  de  la  Chaussee  d'Antin,  38.  The  house 
no  longer  stands,  having  been  demolished  by 
the  cutting  of  the  rue  Lafayette.  Later  he 
moved  to  the  rue  Tronchet,  number  5.  The 
house  is  still  there.  He  occupied  the  rez-de- 
chaussee.  The  first  piece  Mathias  brought 
him  was  by  Kalkbrenner  and  called  Une 
Pensee  de  Bellini.  Chopin  regarded  it  with- 
out horror,  then  gave  the  boy  the  Mosch- 
eles  studies  and  the  A  minor  concerto  of 
Hummel.  His  pupil,  Fontana,  gave  lessons 
when  the  master  was  sick.  One  day  Chopin 
was  ill  but  received  his  visitors  lying  on  a 
couch.  Mathias  noticed  the  Carneval  of 
Schumann.  It  was  the  first  edition,  and 
Chopin  on  being  asked  what  he  thought  of 
the  music  answered  in  icy  accents  as  if  the 
work  were  painful  even  to  know.  He  could 
not  speak  well  of  music  where  want  of  form 
shocked  his  classical  instincts,  so  he  said  as 
little  as  possible.  And  poor  old  Robert 
Schumann  down  in  Leipsic  pouring  out  inky 
rhapsodies  over  Chopin  ! 

Mathias  tells  us  that  Chopin  was  a  simple 
man — "  Je  ne  veux  pas  dire  simple  esprit" 
—  was  no  critic,  was  without  literary  preten- 
sions and  not  of  the  intellectual  fibre  of  Liszt 
or  Berlioz.  When  the  aide-decamp  of  King 
194 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

Louis  Philippe  asked  him  why  he  did  not 
compose  an  opera  he  answered  in  that  small, 
slightly  stifled  voice  of  his :  "  Ah,  M.  le 
Comte,  let  me  compose  piano  music;  it's 
all  I  know  how  to  do." 

Bach,  Hummel  and  Field,  Mathias  says, 
were  his  strongest  musical  influences.  You 
may  well  imagine  his  horror  if  forced  to  listen 
to  the  Ring.  A  tender-souled  creature  yet 
with  the  fire  of  a  hero  in  his  veins  !  More 
masculine,  heroic  music  —  free  from  Liszt's 
and  Wagner's  grandiloquence  of  accent  — 
than  the  F  sharp  minor  polonaise,  some  of 
the  ballades,  preludes  and  etudes,  has  yet  to 
be  written. 


V 

In  the  city  of  Boston,  January  19,  1809,  a 
son  was  born  to  David  and  Elizabeth  Poe. 
On  March  i,  1809,  in  the  little  village  of 
Zelazowa-Wola,  twenty-eight  miles  from  War- 
saw, in  Poland,  a  son  was  born  to  Nicholas 
and  Justina  Chopin.  The  American  is  known 
to  the  world  as  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  the  poet; 
the  Pole  as  Frederic  Francois  Chopin,  the 
composer.  October  7,  1849,  Edgar  Poe  died 
neglected  in  Washington  Hospital  at  Balti- 
more, and  October  17,  1849,  Frederic  Chopin 
195 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

expired  in  Paris  surrounded  by  loving  friends. 
Poe  and  Chopin  never  knew  of  each  other's 
existence  yet  —  a  curious  coincidence  —  two 
supremely  melancholy  artists  of  the  beautiful 
lived  and  died  almost  synchronously. 

It  would  be  a  strained  parallel  to  compare 
Chopin  and  Poe  at  many  points  yet  the 
chronological  events  referred  to,  are  not  the 
only  comparisons  that  might  be  made  with- 
out the  fear  or  flavor  of  affectation.  There 
are  parallels  in  the  soul-lives  as  well  as  in  the 
earth-lives  of  these  two  men  —  Poe  and 
Chopin  seem  ever  youthful  —  that  may  be 
drawn  without  extravagance.  True,  the  roots 
of  Chopin's  culture  were  more  richly  nurtured 
than  Poe's,  but  the  latter,  like  a  spiritual  air 
plant,  derived  his  sustenance  none  know  how. 
Of  Poe's  forbears  we  may  hardly  form  any 
adequate  conception ;  his  learning  was  not 
profound,  despite  his  copious  quotations  from 
almost  forgotten  and  recondite  authors ;  yet 
his  lines  to  Helen  were  written  in  boyhood. 
The  poet  in  his  case  was  indeed  born,  not 
made.  Chopin,  we  know,  had  careful  training 
from  the  faithful  Eisner;  but  who  could  have 
taught  him  to  write  his  opus  2,  the  variations 
over  which  Schumann  rhapsodized,  or  even 
that  gem,  his  E  flat  nocturne  —  now,  alas ! 
somewhat  stale  from  conservatory  usage  ? 
196 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

Both  these  men,  full  fledged  in  their  gifts, 
sprang  from  the  Jovian  brain  and,  while  they 
both  improved  in  the  technics  of  their  art, 
their  individualities  were  at  the  outset  as 
sharply  defined  as  w^ere  their  limitations. 
Read  Foe's  To  Helen,  and  tell  me  if  he 
made  more  exquisite  music  in  his  later  years. 
You  remember  it: 

Helen,  thy  beauty  is  to  me 
Like  those  Nicean  barks  of  yore 
That  gently,  o'er  a  perfumed  sea. 
The  weary,  way-worn  wanderer  bore 
To  his  own  native  shore. 

On  desperate  seas  long  wont  to  roam, 
Thy  hyacinth  hair,  thy  classic  face, 
Thy  naiad  airs  have  brought  me  home 
To  the  glory  that  was  Greece, 
And  the  grandeur  that  was  Rome. 

I  refrain  from  giving  the  third  verse ;  but 
are  not  these  lines  remarkable  in  beauty  of 
imagination  and  diction  when  one  considers 
they  were  penned  by  a  youngster  scarcely 
out  of  his  teens  ! 

Now  glance  at  Chopin's  earlier  effusions, 
his  opus  I,  a  rondo  in  C  minor;  his  opus  2 
already  referred  to;  his  opus  3,  the  C  major 
polonaise  for  'cello  and  piano  ;  his  opus  5,  the 
Rondeau  a  la  Mazur  in  F;  his  opus  6,  the 
first  four  mazourkas,  perfect  of  their  kind; 
197 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

opus  7,  more  mazourkas  ;  opus  8,  the  G  minor 
trio,  the  classicism  of  which  you  may  dis- 
pute ;  nevertheless  it  contains  lovely  music. 
Then  follow  the  nocturnes,  the  concerto  in  F 
minor,  the  latter  begun  when  Chopin  was 
only  twenty,  and  so  on  through  the  list. 
Both  men  died  at  forty  —  the  very  prime  of 
life,  when  the  natural  forces  are  acting  freest, 
when  the  overwrought  passions  of  youth  had 
begun  to  mellow  and  yet  there  were  several 
years  before  the  close,  a  distinct  period  of 
decadence,  almost  deterioration.  I  am  con- 
scious of  the  critical  claims  of  those  who  taste 
in  both  Poe's  and  Chopin's  later  music  the 
exquisite  quality  of  the  over-ripe,  the  savor 
of  morbidity. 

Beautiful  as  it  is,  Chopin's  polonaise- 
fantaisie  opus  6i,  with  its  hectic  flush  —  in  its 
most  musical,  most  melancholy  cadences  — 
gives  us  a  premonition  of  death.  Composed 
three  years  before  he  died,  it  has  the  taint  of 
the  tomb  about  it  and,  like  the  A  minor 
mazourka,  said  by  Klindworth  to  be  Chopin's 
last  composition,  the  sick  brain  is  heard  in 
the  morbid  insistence  of  the  theme,  of  the 
weary  "wherefore?"  in  every  bar.  Is  not 
this  iteration  like  Poe's  in  his  last  period? 
Read  Ulalume  with  its  haunting,  harrowing 
harmonies ; 

198 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

Then  my  heart  it  grew  ashen  and  sober, 
As  the  leaves  that  were  crisped  and  sere  — 
As  the  leaves  that  were  withering  and  sere. 

In  terror  she  spoke,  letting  sink  her 
Wings  until  they  trailed  in  the  dust  — 
In  agony  sobbed,  letting  sink  her 
Plumes  till  they  trailed  in  the  dust  — 
Till  they  sorrowfully  trailed  in  the  dust. 

This    poem,  in  which    sense    swoons    into 
sound,  has  all  the  richness  of  color,  the  dan- 
gerous glow  of  the  man  whose  brain  is  peril 
ously  near  the  point  of  unhingement. 

Poe  then,  like  Chopin,  did  not  die  too 
soon.  Morbid,  neurotic  natures,  they  lived 
their  lives  with  the  intensity  that  Walter 
Pater  declares  is  the  only  true  life.  "To 
burn  always  with  this  hard,  gem-like  flame," 
he  writes  "  to  maintain  this  ecstasy,  is  success 
in  life.     Failure  is  to  form  habits." 

Certainly  Chopin  and  Poe  fulfilled  in  their 
short  existences  these  conditions.  They 
burned  ever  with  the  flame  of  genius  and  that 
flame  devoured  their  brains  as  surely  as 
paresis.  Their  lives,  in  the  ordinary  Phil- 
istine or  Plutus-like  sense,  were  failures ; 
uncompromising  failures.  They  were  not 
citizens  after  the  conjugal  manner  nor  did 
they  accumulate  pelf  They  certainly  failed 
to  form  habits  and,  while  the  delicacy  of  the 
199 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Pole  prevented  his  indulging  in  the  night-side 
Bohemianism  of  the  American,  he  neverthe- 
less contrived  to  outrage  social  and  ethical 
canons.  Poe,  it  is  said,  was  a  drunkard, 
though  recent  researches  develop  the  fact 
that  but  one  glass  of  brandy  drove  him  into 
delirium.  Possibly  like  Baudelaire,  his  dis- 
ciple and  translator,  he  indulged  in  some 
deadly  drug  or  perhaps  congenital  derange- 
ment, such  as  masked  epilepsy,  or  some 
cerebral  disorder,  colored  his  daily  actions 
with  the  semblance  of  arrant  dissipation  and 
recklessness. 

There  are  two  Poes  known  to  his  various 
friends.  A  few  knew  the  one,  many  the 
other;  some  knew  both  men.  A  winning, 
poetic  personality,  a  charming  man  of  the 
world,  electric  in  speech  and  with  an  eye  of 
genius — a  creature  with  a  beautiful  brain, 
said  many.  Alas!  the  other;  a  sad-eyed 
wretch  with  a  fixed  sneer,  a  bitter,  uncurbed 
tongue  that  lashed  alike  friend  and  foe,  a  sot, 
a  libertine,  a  gambler — God!  what  has  not 
Edgar  Allan  Poe  been  called  !  We  all  know 
that  Griswold  distorted  the  picture,  but  some 
later  critics  have  declared  that  Poe,  despite 
his  angelic  treatment  of  his  cousin-wife  ]\Iaria 
Clemm,  was  not  a  man  of  irreproachable 
habits, 

200 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

This  much  I  have  heard;  at  the  time  Poe 
Hved  in  Philadelphia,  where  he  edited  a 
magazine  for  Burton  or  Graham — I  forget 
which  —  my  father  met  him  several  times  at 
the  houses  of  Judge  Conrad  and  John  Sar- 
tain,  the  latter  the  steel  engraver.  Poe,  my 
father  has  repeatedly  told  me,  was  a  slender, 
nervous  man,  very  reticent,  very  charming  in 
manner,  though,  like  Chopin,  disposed  to  a 
certain  melancholy  hauteur;  both  men  were 
probably  poseurs.  But  after  one  glass  of 
wine  or  spirits  Poe  became  an  uncontrol- 
lable demon  ;  —  his  own  demon  of  perversity ; 
and  poetry  and  blasphemy  poured  from  his 
lips.  John  Sartain  has  told  of  a  midnight 
tramp  he  took  with  Poe,  in  the  midst  of  a 
howling  storm,  in  Fairmount  Park,  Philadel- 
phia, to  prevent  him  from  attempting  his  life. 
This  enigmatic  man,  like  Chopin,  lived  a 
double  life,  but  his  surroundings  were  differ- 
ent and  this  particular  fact  must  be  accented. 

America  was  not  a  pleasant  place  for  an 
artist  a  half  century  ago.  William  Blake  the 
poet-seer  wrote :  "  The  ages  are  all  equal  but 
genius  is  always  above  its  age."  Poe  was  cer- 
tainly above  his  age  —  a  trafficking  time  in  the 
history  of  the  country,  when  commerce  ruled 
and  little  heed  was  given  to  the  beautiful. 
N.  P.  WiUis,  Poe's  best  friend,  counsellor  and 

20I 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

constant  helper,  wrote  pale  proper  verse  while 
Poe  made  a  bare  living  by  writing  horrific 
tales  wherein  his  marvellous  powers  of  analy- 
sis and  description  found  play  and  pay.  But 
oh  !  the  pity  of  it  all !  The  waste  of  superior 
talent  —  of  absolute  genius.  The  divine  spark 
that  was  crushed  out,  trampled  in  the  mud 
and  made  to  do  duty  as  a  common  tallow 
dip  !  One  is  filled  with  horror  at  the  thought 
of  a  kindred  poetic  nature  also  being  cast  in 
the  prosaic  atmosphere  of  this  country;  for 
if  Chopin  had  not  had  success  at  Prince  Val- 
entine Radziwill's  soiree  in  Paris  in  the  year 
1 83 1  he  would  certainly  have  tried  his  luck 
in  the  New  World,  and  do  you  not  shudder 
at  the  idea  of  Chopin's  living  in  the  United 
States  in  1831? 

Fancy  those  two  wraiths  of  genius,  Poe  and 
Chopin,  in  this  city  of  New  York  !  Chopin 
giving  piano  lessons  to  the  daughters  of 
wealthy  aristocrats  of  the  Battery,  Poe  en- 
countering him  at  some  conversazione  —  they 
had  conversaziones  then  —  and  propounding 
to  him  Heine-like  questions:  "Are  the  roses 
at  home  still  in  their  flame-hued  pride?" 
"  Do  the  trees  still  sing  as  beautifully  in  the 
moonlight?  " 

They  would  have  understood  one  another 
at  a  glance.  Poe  was  not  a  whit  inferior  in 
202 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

sensibility  to  Chopin.  Balzac  declared  that  if 
Chopin  drummed  on  a  bare  table,  his  fingers 
made  subtle-sounding  music.  Poe,  like  Bal- 
zac, would  have  felt  the  drummed  tears  in 
Chopin's  play,  while  Chopin  in  turn  could  not 
have  failed  to  divine  the  tremulous  vibrations 
of  Poe's  exquisitely  strung  nature.  What  a 
meeting  it  would  have  been,  but  again,  what 
inevitable  misery  for  the  Polish  poet ! 

A  different  tale  might  be  told  if  Poe  had 
gone  to  Paris  and  enjoyed  some  meed  of 
success !  How  the  fine  flower  of  his  genius 
would  have  bloomed  into  fragrance  if  nour- 
ished in  such  congenial  soil !  We  would  prob- 
ably not  have  had,  to  such  a  desperate  extent 
the  note  of  melancholia,  so  sweetly  despairing 
or  despairingly  sweet,  that  we  now  enjoy  in 
his  writings  —  a  note  eminently  Gothic  and 
Christian.  Goethe's  "  Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht 
Kenat"  is  as  true  of  Poe  as  of  Heine,  of 
Baudelaire,  of  Chopin,  of  Schumann,  of  Shel- 
ley, of  Leopardi,  of  Byron,  of  Keats,  of  Alfred 
de  Musset,  of  Senancour,  of  Amiel  —  of  all 
that  choir  of  lacerated  lives  which  wreak  them- 
selves in  expression.  One  is  well  reminded 
here  of  Baudelaire  who  wrote  of  the  ferocious 
absorption  in  the  pursuit  of  beauty,  by  her 
votaries.  Poe  and  Chopin  all  their  lives  were 
tortured  by  the  desire  of  beauty,  by  the  vision 
203 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

of  perfection.  Little  recked  they  of  that 
penalty  which  must  be  paid  by  men  of 
genius,  and  has  been  paid  from  Tasso  to 
Swift  and  from  Poe  and  Baudelaire  to  Guy 
de  Maupassant. 

Frederic  Chopin's  culture  was  not  necessa- 
rily of  a  finer  stamp  than  Edgar  Foe's,  nor  was 
his  range  wider.  Both  men  were  narrow  in 
sympathies  though  intense  to  the  point  of 
poignancy  and  rich  in  mood-versatility.  Both 
were  born  aristocrats  ;  purple  raiment  became 
them  well  and  both  were  sadly  deficient  in 
genuine  humor  —  the  Attic  salt  that  con- 
serves while  mocking  itself.  Irony  both 
possessed  to  a  superlative  degree  and  both 
believed  in  the  rhythmical  creation  of  lyrical 
beauty  and  in  the  charm  of  evanescence. 
Poe  declared,  in  his  dogmatic  manner,  that  a 
long  poem  could  not  exist.  He  restricted 
the  poetical  art  in  form  and  length,  and  fur- 
thermore insisted  that  "  Beauty  of  whatever 
kind  in  its  supreme  development  invariably 
excites  a  sensitive  soul  to  tears."  The  note 
of  melancholy  was  to  him  the  one  note  worthy 
the  singing.  And  have  we  not  a  parallel  in 
Chopin's  music? 

He  is  morbid,  there  is  no  gainsaying  it  and, 
like  Poe,  is  at  his  best  in  smaller  art  forms. 
When  either  artist  spreads  his  pinions  for  sym- 
204 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

phonic  flights,  we  are  reminded  of  Matthew 
Arnold's  poetical  description  of  Shelley 
"  beating  in  the  void  his  luminous  wings  in 
vain."  Poe  and  Chopin  mastered  supremely, 
as  Henry  James  would  say,  their  intellectual  in- 
struments. They  are  lyrists  and  their  attempts 
at  the  epical  are  usually  distinguished  failures. 

Exquisite  artificers  in  precious  cameos, 
these  two  men  are  of  a  consanguinity  because 
of  their  devotion  to  Our  Ladies  of  Sorrow, 
the  IVIater  Lachrymarum,  the  Mater  Sus- 
piriorum  and  the  INIater  Tenebrarum  of 
Thomas  De  Ouincey.  If  the  Mater  Malo- 
rum  —  Mother  of  Evil  —  presided  over  their 
lives,  they  never  in  their  art  became  as  Baude- 
laire, a  sinister  "  Israfel  of  the  sweet  lute." 
Whatever  their  personal  shortcomings,  the 
disorders  of  their  lives  found  no  reflex  be- 
yond that  of  melancholy.  The  notes  of 
revolt,  of  anger,  of  despair  there  are,  but  of 
impurity,  no  trace  whatsoever.  Poe's  women 
—  those  ethereal  creatures  whose  slim  necks, 
willowy  figures,  radiant  eyes  and  velvet  foot- 
falls, encircled  in  an  atmosphere  of  purity  — 
Poe's  women,  while  not  being  the  womanly 
woman  beloved  of  William  Wordsworth,  are 
after  all  untainted  by  any  morbidities. 

Poe  ever  professed  in  daily  life,  whatever 
he  may  have  practised,  the  highest  reverence 
205 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

for  "das  ewig  Weibliche"  and  not  less  so 
Chopin,  who  was  fastidious  and  a  very  stickler 
for  the  more  minute  proprieties  of  life.  Am 
I  far  fetched  in  my  simile  when  I  compare 
the  natures  of  Poe  and  Chopin !  Take  the 
latter's  preludes  for  example,  tiny  poems, 
and  parallel  them  to  such  verse  of  Poe's  as 
the  Haunted  Palace,  Eulalie,  Annabel  Lee, 
Eldorado,  The  Conquered  Worm  or  that  in- 
comparable bit,  Israfel : 

In  Heaven  a  spirit  doth  dwell 
Whose  heart-strings  are  a  lute  • 
None  sing  so  wildly  well 
As  the  Angel  Israfel. 

Poe's  haunting  melodies,  his  music  for 
music's  sake,  often  remind  us  of  Chopin. 
The  euphonious,  the  well  sounding,  the  wohl- 
klang,  was  carried  almost  beyond  the  pitch 
of  endurance,  by  both  artists.  They  had 
however  some  quality  of  self-restraint  as 
well  as  the  vices  of  their  virtues ;  we  may 
no  longer  mention  The  Raven  or  The  Bells 
with  equanimity,  nor  can  we  endure  listening 
to  the  E  flat  nocturne  or  the  D  flat  valse.  In 
the  latter  case  repetition  has  dulled  the  ears 
for  enjoyment ;  in  the  former  case  the  obvious 
artificiality  of  both  poems,  despite  their  many 
happy  conceits,  jars  on  the  spiritual  ear.  The 
bulk  of  Chopin's  work  is  about  comparable 

20(5 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

to  Poe's.  Neither  man  was  a  copious  pro- 
ducer and  both  carried  the  idea  of  perfec- 
tion to  insanity's  border.  Both  have  left 
scores  of  imitators  but  in  Poe's  case  a  veri- 
table school  has  been  founded ;  in  Chopin's 
the  imitations  have  been  feeble  and  sterile. 

Following  Poe  we  have  unquestionably 
Algernon  Charles  Swinburne,  who  is  doubly 
a  reflection  of  Poe,  for  he  absorbed  Poe's 
alliterative  system,  and  from  Charles  Baude- 
laire his  mysticism,  plus  Baudelaire's  malifi- 
cence,  to  which  compound  he  added  the 
familiar  Swinburnian  eroticism.  Tennyson 
and  Elizabeth  Barrett-Browning  felt  Poe's  in- 
fluence, if  but  briefly,  while  in  France  and  Bel- 
gium he  has  produced  a  brood  of  followers 
beginning  with  the  rank  crudities  of  Gabo- 
riau,  in  his  detective  stories,  modelled  after 
The  Murder  in  the  Rue  Morgue ;  the  Bel- 
gian Maeterlinck,  who  juggles  with  Poe's 
motives  of  fear  and  death,  Baudelaire,  a 
French  Poe  with  an  abnormal  flavor  of 
Parisian  depravity  super-added  and  latterly 
that  curious  group,  the  decadents,  headed 
by  Verlaine,  and  Stephen  Mallarme.  Poe 
has  made  his  influence  felt  in  England  too, 
notably  upon  James  Thomson,  the  poet 
of  The  City  of  Dreadful  Night  and  in  Ire- 
land, in  the  sadly  sympathetic  figure  of 
2o;7 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

James  Clarence  Mangan.  Of  Chopin's  indi- 
rect influence  on  the  musical  world  I  would 
not  care  to  dilate  fearing  you  would  accuse 
me  of  exaggeration,  Liszt  would  not  have 
been  a  composer  —  at  least  for  the  piano,  if 
he  had  not  nested  in  Chopin's  brain.  As  I 
said  before,  I  certainly  believe  that  Wagner 
profited  greatly  by  Chopin's  discoveries  in 
chromatic  harmonies,  discoveries  without 
which  modern  music  would  yet  be  in  diatonic 
swaddling  clothes. 

On  one  point  Poe  and  Chopin  were  as  dis- 
similar as  the  poles;  the  point  of  nation- 
ality. Poe  wrote  in  the  English  tongue  but 
beyond  that  he  was  no  more  American 
than  he  was  English.  His  milieu  was  un- 
sympathetic, and  he  refused  to  be  assimi- 
lated by  it.  His  verse  and  his  prose  depict 
character  and  situations  that  belong  to  no 
man's  land  — to  that  region  East  of  the  moon 
and  West  of  the  sun.  In  his  Eldorado  he 
poetically  locates  the  country  wherein  his 
soul  dramas  occur.     Thus  he  sings: 

"Over  the  mountains 
Of  the  moon 
Down  the  valley  of  the  shadow. 
Ride,  boldly  ride," 
The  shade  replied, 
**!£  you  seek  for  Eldorado," 

208 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

His  creations  are  mostly  bodiless  and  his 
verse  suggests  the  most  subtile  imagery. 
Shadow  of  shadows,  his  prose  possesses  the 
same  spectral  quality.  Have  you  read  those 
two  perfect  pastels  —  Silence  and  Shadow? 
If  not,  you  know  not  the  genius  of  Edgar 
Allan  Poe.  Chopin  is  more  human  than  Poe, 
inasmuch  as  he  is  patriotic.  His  polonaises 
are,  as  Schumann  said,  "  cannons  buried  in 
flowers."  He  is  Chopin  and  he  is  also  Poland 
though  Poland  is  by  no  means  Chopin.  In 
his  polonaises,  in  his  mazourkas,  the  indefin- 
able Polish  Zal  lurks,  a  drowsy  perfume. 
Chopin  struck  many  human  chords;  some 
of  his  melodies  belong  to  that  Poe-like 
region  wherein  beauty  incarnate  reigns  and 
is  worshipped  for  itself.  This  then  is  the 
great  dissimilarity  between  the  artist  in  tone 
and  the  artist  in  words.  Poe  had  no  coun- 
try; Chopin  had  Poland.  If  Chopin's  heart 
had  been  exposed  "  Poland  "  might  have  been 
found  blazoned  upon  it. 

But,  if  Poe  lacked  political  passion  he  had 
the  passion  for  the  beautiful.  Both  men  re- 
sembled one  another  strangely,  in  their  in- 
tensity of  expression.  Both  had  the  power 
of  expressing  the  weird,  the  terrific,  and 
Chopin  in  his  scherzi,  thunders  from  heights 
that  Poe  failed  to  scale.  The  ethical  motif 
14  209 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

was,  curiously  enough,  absent  in  both  and 
both  despised  the  "  heresy  of  instruction." 
Art  for  art's  sake,  beauty  for  beauty's  sake 
alone,  was  their  shibboleth. 

Will  the  music  of  Chopin  ever  age. ^  Louis 
Ehlert  thinks  that  music  ages  rapidly  like 
the  beauty  of  Southern  women,  and  Baude- 
laire says,  "  Nothing  here  below  is  certain,  no 
building  on  strong  hearts,  both  love  and 
beauty  go."  An  English  critic,  Mr.  Vernon 
Blackburn,  puts  the  case  plainly:  "  I  do  not 
merely  and  baldly  mean,"  he  writes,  "  that 
an  artistic  production,  like  man,  like  the 
flowers,  like  the  sun,  grows  older  as  the  years 
go ;  I  mean  that  those  years  do  actually  steal 
from  it  an  absolute  quality  which  it  once 
possessed." 

Much  of  the  early  Chopin  has  become 
faded,  but  the  greater  Chopin,  like  Bach  and 
Beethoven,  will  last  as  long  as  the  voice  of 
the  piano  is  heard  throughout  the  land. 

Frederic  Chopin  is  as  Robert  Schumann 
declared,  "  the  proudest  poetic  spirit  of  his 
time." 

VI 

Fryderyk  Szopen  —  thus  Szulc  and  Kara- 
sowski  write  the  name  of  Poland's  great 
composer  —  has  had    varying  fortunes  with 

2IO 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

his  biographers.  He  has  been  much  written 
about,  and  aged  persons  who  never  saw  him 
have  pubHshed  ghb  memoirs  of  him.  He 
has  been  misunderstood  and  beslavered  with 
uncritical  praise,  and  his  friends  and  pupils 
have  in  most  cases  proved  to  be  his  excel- 
lent enemies.  Chopin  to-day  enjoys  an  un- 
healthy vogue  and  the  fame  of  him  is  apt  to 
prove  his  undoing.  A  fellow  of  formidable 
passions,  of  dramatic  vigor,  a  man  of  heroic 
brain,  the  woman  in  his  nature  and  the 
idolatry  of  women  wove  a  feminine  aureole 
about  his  distinguished  head,  and  so  he  bids 
fair  to  go  down  to  posterity  the  very  por- 
trait of  a  hysterical,  jaded,  morbid  invalid. 

But  Chopin  was  all  this  and  something 
more. 

Where  is  the  true  Chopin  to  be  found? 
If  you  have  a  pretty  fancy  for  musical  psy- 
chologizing you  will  answer  that  in  his  music 
may  be  discovered  the  true  Chopin,  and  in 
no  book,  pamphlet  or  pedantic  exegesis. 

If  you  believe  in  biographies  there  is 
Niecks'  —  Niecks  who  combed  creation  clean 
for  petty  facts  and  large  instances ;  his  two 
bulky  volumes  are  at  once  the  delight  and 
despair  of  all  Chopinists. 

One  summer  I  gave  myself  over  to  Chopin 
and  his  weaving   musical  magic.     I  secured 

211 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

various  editions.  I  read  Scholtz  and  the 
several  editors  of  the  Breitkopf  &  Hartel 
edition  and  enjoyed  Theodor  Kullak's  re- 
marks appended  to  his  edition.  In  Mikuli 
I  found  a  moiety  to  praise  and  wonder  at  — 
there  the  rubato  flourishes  like  the  green 
bay  tree  —  and  indorsed  the  sympathetic  and 
sane  editing  of  Karl  Klindworth,  which 
comes  nearer  to  being  a  definitive  edition  than 
any  of  them.  Von  Biilow's  version  of  the 
studies  is  partly  amusing  and  partly  imperti- 
nent—  while  I  carefully  avoided  all  French 
editions.  The  French  understand  Chopin 
to  a  limited  degree,  and  they  worship  in 
him  the  qualities  that  were  almost  fatal  to 
his  genius. 

I  never  heard  a  French  pianist  give  an 
adequate  interpretation  to  Chopin's  master- 
works.  If  the  Germans  treat  him  in  a  dull, 
clumsy  and  brutal  manner,  the  Frenchman 
irritates  you  by  his  flippancy,  his  nimble, 
colorless  fingers  and  the  utter  absence  of 
poetic  divination.  Without  Slavic  blood  in 
your  veins  you  may  not  hope  to  play  Cho- 
pin, and  all  Polish  pianists  do  not  under- 
stand him. 

Here  is  a  list  of  the  books  on  the  subject 
of  Chopin:  Frederick  Chopin  as  a  Man  and 
Musician,  FrederickNiecks ;  Chopin  and  Other 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

Musical  Essays,  Henry  T.  Finck ;  Frederick 
Chopin,  Franz  Liszt;  Life  and  Letters  of 
Frederick  Chopin,  Moritz  Karasowski ;  The 
Works  of  Frederic  Chopin  and  their  Proper 
Interpretation,  translated  from  the  Polish  of 
Jean  Kleczynski  by  Alfred  W'hittingham  ;  Mu- 
sical Studies,  Franz  Hueffer;  George  Sand, 
BerthaThomas  ;  Letters  from  Majorca,  Charles 
Wood;  Frederick  Chopin,  Joseph  Bennett; 
Histoire  de  ma  Vie  and  Correspondence, 
George  Sand ;  Frederic  Chopin,  La  Vie  et 
ses  CEuvres,  ]\Ime.  A.  Audley;  Les  Trois 
Romans  de  Frederic  Chopin,  Count  Wodin- 
ski  ;  F.  Chopin,  Essai  de  Critique  Musicale,  H. 
Barbadette;  Les  Musiciens  Polonais,  Albert 
Sowinski ;  Frederick  Frangois  Chopin,  by 
Charles  Willeby,  and  whilst  rummaging 
through  Scribner's  large  musical  library  I 
found  a  tiny  book  called  Chopin,  which 
proved  to  be  extracts  from  George  Sand's 
A  Winter  in  Majorca  and  familiar  material. 
Then  there  are  fugitive  articles  almost  innu- 
merable, and  I  have  read  with  interest  John 
Van  Cleve's  account  of  the  talk  he  had  with 
Werner  Steinbrecher,  once  a  resident  pianist 
of  Cincinnati,  and  a  pupil  of  Chopin.  We 
have  all  met  the  man  who  knew  the  man 
who  shook  the  hand  of  Chopin.  He  is  not 
always  trustworthy,  but  every  stone  cast  on 
213 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

the  Chopin  cairn  adds  to  its  stature  and 
the  legend  grows  with  the  years  —  grows 
amazingly. 

Then  there  is  M.  A.  Szulc's  Fryderyk 
Szopen,  which  I  have  never  seen,  and  if 
I  had,  could  not  read.  The  fantastic  sketches 
of  Elise  Polko  must  not  be  forgotten,  nor 
the  capital  study  by  Louis  Ehlert,  the  latter 
being  most  discriminating.  Consider,  too, 
the  passing  references  to  Chopin  in  the 
Liszt,  Mendelssohn,  Hiller,  Heller  and  Mosch- 
eles  letters !  That  loquacious  but  inter- 
esting gossip,  De  Lenz,  has  recorded  his 
experiences  with  Chopin,  for  he  bore  to  him 
a  letter  from  Liszt.  But  use  the  critical 
saltcellar  in  reading  De  Lenz.  His  Trois 
Styles  de  Beethoven  is  neither  a  veracious 
nor  yet  a  sound  book.  De  Lenz  dearly 
loved  a  pianist.  He  was  a  snob  musical 
in  a  florid  state  of  culture,  and  the  soul  of 
Thackeray  would  have  hungered  to  transfix 
him  on  the  barb  of  his  undying  prose.  He 
was  a  musical  tuft-hunter  of  huge  propor- 
tions and  had  spasms  over  Liszt,  Karl  Tausig 
and  Henselt.  Chopin  he  handles  rather 
cautiously.  The  Slavic  instinct  in  Chopin 
set  tinkling  in  his  brain  the  little  bells  of 
suspicion.  He  sensed  at  once  the  object 
of  the  Russian's  visit;  he  was  almost  vit- 
214 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

riolic  with  him  and  ironical  when  he  played. 
So  De  Lenz  never  forgave  Chopin,  he  etches 
him  with  an  acid  touch,  and  we  are  all  the 
richer  for  it.  The  unvarying  treacle  that  he 
pours  over  the  figures  of  the  other  three 
piano  artists  obliterates  completely  their  out- 
line.    The  disagreeable  prompted  the  truth. 

Unlike  Frederick  Niecks,  I  have  not  had 
the  pleasure  of  visiting  Chopin's  pupils,  ]\Ia- 
dame  Dubois,  nee  Camille  O'AIeara ;  Madame 
Rubio,  nee  Vera  de  Kologrivof ;  Mile.  Gavard ; 
Madame  Streicher,  nee  Friederike  Miiller; 
Adolph  Gutmann,  Brinley  Richards  and 
Lindsay  Sloper.  M.  Mathias  I  knew.  Niecks 
met  and  talked  about  Chopin  with  Liszt, 
Ferdinand  Hiller,  Franchomme,  the  'cellist, 
a  most  valuable  friend ;  Charles  Valentine 
Alkan,  Stephen  Heller,  Edouard  Wolff, 
Charles  Halle,  G.  A.  Osborne,  T.  Kwiatkowski, 
who  painted,  according  to  Niecks,  the  best  por- 
trait of  Chopin ;  Prof.  A.  Chadzko,  Leonard 
Niedzwiecki,  Jenny  Lind  Goldsmidt,  A.  J. 
Hipkins  and  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Lyschinski.  Little 
wonder  then  that  Professor  Niecks  has  given 
us  two  books  stuffed  with  Chopin  and  two 
books  of  the  greatest  value  to  Chopin  stu- 
dents, because  of  the  material  collected  and 
sifted.  That  Niecks  has  succeeded  in  build- 
ing up,  recreating  for  us  a  veracious  portrait 
215 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

of  his  hero,  I  cannot  truthfully  say.  He  has 
refined  upon  Karasowski,  but  the  latter  at 
least  has  put  the  Chopin-loving  world  forever 
in  his  debt.  The  letters  of  Chopin  were  first 
published  by  Karasowski,  and  they  are  of  the 
utmost  importance;  genuine  human  docu- 
ments. Chopin  was  not  a  voluble  corre- 
spondent. The  Liszt  story  that  he  would 
traverse  Paris  to  answer  a  dinner  invitation 
may  be  true  of  his  later  years,  but  the  young 
Chopin  was  gay  and  wrote  gay,  chatty  letters 
to  his  parents  and  friends.  What  we  lost  by 
the  destruction  at  Warsaw  of  the  Paris  cor- 
respondence we  may  never  know.  That  it 
would  divulge  much  of  the  George  Sand  epi- 
sode is  doubtful.  Chopin,  while  not  a  strict 
Catholic,  was  a  devout  believer,  and  knowing 
his  mother's  piety  he  naturally  tried  to 
conceal  the  Sand  affair.  He  would  have 
agreed  with  Mr.  George  Moore,  that  when  a 
Roman  Catholic  abandons  his  religion  the 
motive  is  always  a  woman.  Notwithstanding, 
the  Paris- Warsaw  letters  might  have  proved  a 
mine  of  gold.  The  Chopin  correspondence 
extant  has  done  more  to  expel  the  popular 
phantom  born  of  the  vapors  in  Liszt's  brain 
than  anything  else.  They  are  neither  so 
witty,  so  cultivated  as  Mendelssohn's,  nor  so 
profound,  rough  and  pessimistic  as  Bee- 
216 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

thoven's,  nor  yet  so  gay  and  naive  as  Mozart's 
letters^  they  reveal  a  young  man  of  exagger- 
ated sensibility,  of  good  heart,  with  a  fine 
sense  of  humor  and  of  common  sense.  Cul- 
ture, in  the  modern  sense,  Chopin  had  not. 
His  was  not  the  intellectual  temperament. 
Music  was  for  him  the  eternal  solvent;  the 
threshing  out  of  musical  sesthetics,  the  tedi- 
ous argumentations,  the  polemical  side  of  his 
art  he  never  relished.  He  was  no  propagan- 
dist. He  disliked  controversy  and  its  breed- 
ing of  bad  manners.  Chopin  was  a  genius, 
but  a  gentleman.  The  combination  is  rare. 
External  life  was  for  him  a  question  of  good 
form,  and  unlike  those  artists  who  concern 
themselves  to  the  degree  of  madness  with 
questions  of  form  and  diction,  only  to  let 
loose  the  check  reins  of  morals  and  manners 
in  real  life,  Chopin  set  a  high  price  on  out- 
ward behavior.  He  broke  with  Liszt,  as 
Niecks  hints,  because  he  could  not  endure 
Liszt's  free  manner  of  life.  He  could  for- 
give Liszt's  impertinent  emendations  to  his 
ballades  and  mazourkas,  but  he  never  for- 
gave a  breach  of  courtesy.  This  is  a  big 
hint  for  the  Chopin  hunter. 

The    something    inexplicable    to    Western 
imaginations  in  Chopin's  playing  and  music, 
which  Liszt  so  elaborately  explains  with  his 
217 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

definition  of  Zal,  is  nothing  but  the  hopeless 
antinomy  of  the  East  and  the  West.  The 
touch  of  the  Asiatic  in  Chopin,  tempered  by 
French  blood  and  subjected  to  the  attrition 
of  Parisian  drawing  rooms,  will  never  be  quite 
clear  to  us.  It  peeps  out  in  his  mazourkas 
and  in  the  savage  splendor  of  his  F  sharp 
minor  polonaise.  It  lurks  in  the  C  sharp 
minor  nocturne  and  runs  riot  in  the  last  C 
minor  study.  It  is  not  the  febrile  rage  of  the 
Gaul  nor  the  Berserker  madness  of  the  Teu- 
ton and  Anglo-Saxon.  It  is  something  in- 
finitely more  desperate,  more  despairing. 
The  pessimism  of  the  East  is  in  it,  also  its 
languorous  and  scented  voluptuousness.  His 
music,  rich,  exuberant,  exhaling  the  scent 
of  tuberose  and  honeysuckle,  is  too  over- 
powering if  transposed  to  the  violin,  voice  or 
orchestra.  It  is  so  perfectly  piano  music  that 
its  very  structure,  as  well  as  atmosphere,  un- 
dergoes a  change  when  taken  away  from 
that  instrument.  True  it  is  that  Chopin  did 
not  think  so  profoundly  as  Beethoven,  but 
there  are  compensating  clauses  in  his  music. 
Its  exquisite  adaptability  to  the  medium  for 
which  his  music  was  created  is  no  mean 
achievement,  while  the  merging  of  matter  and 
manner  is  so  perfect  as  sometimes  to  put 
Beethoven  in  the  shade. 
218 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

The  Chopin  rubato  is  a  fetish  relentlessly- 
worshipped  by  many  amiable  persons  who 
fancy  that  it  is  something  sweetly  and  poeti- 
cally immoral.  It  is  one  of  the  many  super- 
stitions that  obstinately  clings  to  the  name  of 
Chopin.  To  play  Bach's  music  with  more  ru- 
bato and  Chopin's  with  less  would  be  a  boon. 

Walter  Pater  has  pronounced  in  his  essay, 
The  School  of  Giorgione,  that  music  is  the 
archetype  of  all  the  arts,  the  final  court  of 
appeal,  that  "it  is  the  art  of  music  which 
most  completely  realizes  this  artistic  ideal, 
this  perfect  identification  of  form  and  mat- 
ter." Judged  by  this  Chopin's  music — some 
of  his  music — is  perfect.  He  says  wonder- 
ful things  in  a  wonderful  way,  and  in  his 
master  eloquence  his  voice  pierces  the  mist 
that  hangs  so  heavily  about  the  base  of  the 
Bach  and  Beethoven  peaks.  It  is  not  always 
a  sonorous  voice,  but  it  is  singularly  fine, 
sweet  and  penetrating.  Chopin  is  a  dreamer 
of  dreams  and  not  a  bard,  but  when  the  sword 
leaps  from  the  scabbard  —  O,  the  charm  of 
its  design  !  The  ring  of  steel  is  the  warrior's, 
the  voice  is  the  voice  of  a  man  mad  with 
patriotic  passion,  the  shy,  feminine  soul  is 
completely  withdrawn.  What  a  Chopin  is 
this !  Think  of  the  A  flat  polonaise,  the 
ones  in  C  minor,  in  F  sharp  minor,  and  the 
219 


MEZZOTINTS    IX    :\IODERN    MUSIC 

fantaisie-polonaise,  with  its  triumphant  clim- 
acteric tutti !  Where  have  fled  the  tender, 
confiding,  morbid  voices  of  the  twihght,  the 
opium-haunted  twilight?  A  man  panoplied 
in  shining  metallic  armor,  with  closed  casque, 
charges  the  enemy  and  routs  it,  while  the 
song  of  triumph  mounts  deliriously  to  his 
brains.  No  !  no  !  Chopin  is  not  for  the  mu- 
sical Young  Person.  He  can  be  very  terrible 
and  mordant  and  he  is  not  often  tonic  and 
cheering. 

"It  is  the  mistake  of  much  popular  criti- 
cism," writes  Pater,  "  to  regard  poetry,  music 
and  painting  —  all  the  various  products  of 
art  —  as  but  translations  into  different  lan- 
guages of  one  and  the  same  fixed  quantity 
of  imaginative  thought  supplemented  by  cer- 
tain technical  qualities  of  color  in  painting, 
of  sound  in  music,  of  rhythmical  words  in 
poetry.  In  this  way  the  sensuous  element 
in  art,  and  with  it  almost  everything  in  art 
that  is  essentially  artistic,  is  made  a  matter 
of  indifference ;  and  a  clear  apprehension  of 
the  opposite  principle  —  that  the  sensuous 
material  of  each  art  brings  with  it  a  special 
phase  of  beauty,  untranslatable  into  the  forms 
of  any  other,  an  order  of  impressions  dis- 
tinct in  kind  —  is  the  beginning  of  all  true 
aesthetic  criticism." 

220 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

This  especially  applies  to  Chopin.  His 
music  may  not  —  despite  its  canonic  classi- 
cism —  conform  to  the  standards  of  the  art 
of  Bach  and  Beethoven,  but  apart  from  its 
message  its  very  externals  are  marvellous. 
Delicate  in  linear  perspective,  logical  in 
architectonic,  its  color  is  its  chief  charm. 
Too  much  has  been  written  of  the  Polish  ele- 
ment in  this  music.  Chopin  is  great  despite 
his  nationalit}'.  His  is  not  map  music,  like 
Grieg's.  It  is  Polish  and  something  more. 
He  was  first  a  musician  and  then  a  Pole.  I 
suspect  that  too  much  patriotism  is  read  into 
his  music  by  impressionable  writers.  The 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  pose  is  dead  in  liter- 
ature, but  it  has  survived  in  all  its  native  pul- 
chritude in  the  biographies  of  Chopin.  Liszt 
is  to  blame  for  this  in  his  sweet-caramel  book 
about  Chopin,  a  true  Liszt  rhapsody,  which 
George  Sand  pronounced  "  un  peu  exube- 
rante."  Let  us  once  and  for  all  rid  ourselves  of 
the  dawdling  poseur  of  Liszt,  and  on  the  other 
side  avoid  the  neat,  prim,  rare-roast  beef  por- 
trait drawn  by  Joseph  Bennett.  Karasowski, 
in  a  frantic  endeavor  to  escape  Liszt's  Ca- 
mille  of  the  keyboard,  with  his  violets,  his 
tears  and  tuberculosis,  created  a  bull-necked 
athlete,  who  almost  played  Polish  cricket  and 
had  aspirations  toward  the  prize  ring. 

221 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

Chopin's  heroism  was  emotional,  not  mus- 
cular. 

Jean  Kleczynski's  book  is  pedagogic  and 
throws  little  light  on  the  tradition  of  Chopin's 
execution.  The  true  Chopin  tradition  is  lost. 
If  he  returned  to-day  and  played  in  public 
we  would  not  accept  him.  However,  he 
builded  better  than  he  knew.  His  works  are 
for  stronger  fingers  than  his. 

Mr.  Finck  is  an  ardent  worshipper  at  the 
shrine,  and  in  the  Willeby  book,  the  latest  of 
the  Chopin  lives,  there  is  nothing  new  and 
there  is  much  that  is  misleading,  especially 
the  arbitrary  and  half-baked  judgments.  The 
last  etude  of  opus  25  is  pronounced  weak! 
It  really  is  a  masterpiece  among  masterpieces. 
Other  critical  blunders  are  not  worth  hag- 
gling over.  The  greater  Chopin,  the  new 
Chopin  that  we  Chopin  idolaters  believe  will 
endure,  is  not  the  Chopin  of  the  valses,  of 
the  nocturnes  —  interesting  as  they  are  —  nor 
of  the  tricksy,  impish  mazourkas.  We  swear 
by  the  F  minor  fantasy,  the  barcarolle,  the 
F  sharp  minor,  the  fantaisie-polonaises,  in- 
cluding the  one  in  E  flat  minor.  We  think 
that  no  more  inspired  pages  have  been  writ- 
ten than  the  D  minor,  the  F  minor  and  the 
B  flat  minor  preludes,  and  are  speechless 
before  the  F  minor  ballade   and  the   E  flat 

222 


THE  GREATER  CHOPIN 

minor  scherzo  —  the  one  in  the  B  flat  minor 
sonata,  and  the  C  sharp  minor  scherzo. 
These,  only  to  mention  a  few,  are  the  quin- 
tessence of  Chopinism  ;  the  rest  are  popular, 
banal  and  of  historical  interest  only. 

The  real  Chopin  life  has  yet  to  be  written, 
a  life  that  shall  embrace  his  moral  and  physi- 
cal natures,  that  will  not  shirk  his  marked 
abnormalities  of  vision,  of  conduct,  and  will 
not  bow  down  before  that  agreeable  fetish 
of  sawdust  and  molasses  called  "  Frederic 
Chopin,"  created  by  silly  sentimentalists  and 
rose-leaf  poets.  Chopin,  with  all  his  imper- 
fections full  blown ;  Chopin,  with  his  con- 
summate genius  for  giving  pain  as  well  as 
taking  pains;  Chopin,  the  wonder-worker,  is 
a  fruitful  and  unexploited  subject  for  the 
devout  biographer. 


«23 


A  LISZT   ETUDE 


I 


When  Franz  Liszt  over  fifty  years  age 
made  some  suggestions  to  the  Erard  piano 
manufacturers  on  the  score  of  increased  sonor- 
ity in  their  instruments,  he  sounded  the  tocsin 
of  reahsm.  It  had  all  been  foreshadowed  in 
dementi's  Gradus,  and  its  intellectual  result- 
ant—  the  Beethoven  sonata,  but  the  material 
side  had  not  been  realized.  Chopin,  who 
sang  the  swan-song  of  idealism  in  surpass- 
ingly sweet  tones,  was  by  nature  unfitted  to 
wrestle  with  the  tone-problem. 

The  arpeggio  principle  had  its  attractions 
for  the  gifted  Pole  who  used  it  in  the  most 
novel  combinations  and  dared  the  impossible 
in  extended  harmonies.  But  the  rich  glow 
of  idealism  was  over  it  all — a  glow  not  then 
sicklied  by  the  impertinences  and  affectations 
of  the  Herz-Parisian  school;  despite  the  mor- 
bidities and  occasional  dandyisms  of  Chopin's 
style  he  was,  in  the  main,  manly  and  unaf- 
224 


A  LISZT   ETUDE 

fected.  Thalberg,  who  pushed  to  its  limits 
scale  playing  and  made  an  embroidered 
variant  the  end  and  not  the  means  of  piano 
playing  —  Thalberg,  aristoqratic  and  refined, 
lacked  dramatic  blood.  With  him  the  well- 
sounding  took  precedence  of  the  eternal 
verities  of  expression.  Touch,  tone,  tech- 
nique, was  his  trinity  of  gods. 

Thalberg  was  not  the  path-breaker;  this 
was  left  for  that  dazzling  Hungarian  who 
flashed  his  scimitar  at  Leipsic's  doors  and 
drove  back  cackling  to  their  nests  the  whole 
brood  of  old- women  professors  —  a  respect- 
able crowd  that  swore  by  the  letter  of  the 
law  and  sniffed  at  the  spirit.  Poverty,  obedi- 
ence and  chastity  were  the  three  obligatory 
vows  insisted  upon  by  the  pedants  of  Leipsic. 
To  attain  this  triune  perfection  one  had  to 
become  poor  in  imagination,  obedient  to 
dull,  musty  precedent,  and  chaste  of  finger. 
What  wonder,  when  the  dashing  young  fellow 
from  Raiding  shouted  his  uncouth  challenge 
to  ears  plugged  by  the  cotton  of  prejudice, 
a  wail  went  forth  and  the  beginning  of  the 
end  seemed  at  hand.  Thalberg  went  under; 
Chopin  never  competed  but  stood  a  slightly 
astonished  spectator  at  the  edge  of  the  fray. 
He  saw  his  own  gossamer  music  turned  into 
a  weapon  of  offence,  his  polonaises  were  so 
IS  225 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

many  cleaving  battle-axes  and  he  had  per- 
force to  confess  that  all  this  noise,  this  car- 
nage of  tone,  unnerved  him,  disgusted  him ; 
Liszt  was  a  warrior ;   not  he. 

Schumann  both  by  word  and  note  did  all 
he  could  for  the  cause  and  to-day,  thanks 
to  Franz  Liszt  and  his  followers  —  Tausig, 
Rubinstein,  d'Albert,  Rosenthal,  Josefify, 
and  Paderewski,  we  can  never  retrace  our 
footsteps.  Occasionally  an  idealist  like  the 
unique  De  Pachmann  astonishes  us  by  his 
marvellous  play,  but  he  is  a  solitary  survivor 
of  a  once  powerful  school,  and  not  the  rep- 
resentative of  an  existing  method.  There 
is  no  gainsaying  that  it  was  a  fascinating 
style  and  modern  giants  of  the  keyboard 
might  often  pattern  with  advantage  after  the 
rococo-isms  of  the  idealists,  but  as  a  school 
pure  and  simple  it  is  of  the  past.  We  mod- 
erns are  eclectic  as  the  Byzantines.  We 
have  a  craze  for  selection,  for  variety,  for 
adaption  ;  hence  the  pianist  of  to-day  must 
include  many  styles  in  his  performance,  but 
the  foundation,  the  keynote  of  all  is  realism; 
a  sometimes  harsh  realism  that  drives  to 
despair  the  apostles  of  the  beautiful  in  music 
and  at  times  forces  one  to  take  lingering, 
retrospective  glances.  To  all  is  not  given 
the  power  to  summon  spirits  from  the  vasty 
226 


A  LISZT   ETUDE 

deep  and  we  have  many  times  viewed  the 
mortifying  spectacle  of  a  Liszt  pupil  stagger- 
ing about  under  the  mantle  of  his  master,  a 
world  too  heavy  for  his  attenuated,  artistic 
frame.  But  the  path  was  blazoned  by  the 
great  Magyar  and  we  may  now  explore  with 
impunity  the  hitherto  trackless  region. 

Modern  piano  playing  differs  from  the 
playing  of  fifty  years  ago  principally  in  the 
character  of  touch  attack.  As  we  all  know, 
the  hand,  forearm  and  upper  arm  are  now 
important  factors  in  tone  production  where 
formerly  the  finger-tips  were  considered  the 
end-all,  the  be-all  of  technique.  The  Vien- 
nese instruments  certainly  influenced  Mozart, 
Cramer  and  others  in  their  styles,  just  as 
Clementi  inaugurated  the  most  startling 
reforms  by  writing  a  series  of  studies  and 
then  building  a  piano  to  make  them  possible 
of  performance.  With  variety  of  touch  — 
tone-color  —  the  old  pearly-passage,  rapid, 
withal  graceful  school  of  Vienna,  vanished, 
for  it  was  absorbed  in  the  new  technique. 
Clementi,  Beethoven,  Schumann  and  then 
Liszt  forced  to  the  utmost  the  orchestral 
development  of  the  piano.  Sonority,  power, 
dynamic  variety  and  a  new  manipulation  of 
the  pedals  combined  with  a  technique  that 
included  Bach  part  playing  and  the  most 
227 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

sensational  pyrotcchnical  flights  over  the 
keyboard ;  these  were  some  of  the  character- 
istics of  the  new  school.  In  the  giddiness 
produced  by  freely  indulging  in  this  heady 
new  wine  from  old  bottles  an  artistic  intoxi- 
cation ensued  that  was  for  the  time  fatal  to 
pure  scholarly  interpretation.  The  classics 
were  mangled  by  the  young  vandals  w-ho 
enlisted  under  Eiszt's  victorious  standard. 
"  Color,  only  color,  all  the  rest  is  but  music  " 
was  the  motto  of  these  bold  youths  who  had 
never  heard  of  Paul  Verlaine.  But  time  has 
mellowed  them,  robbed  their  playing  of  its 
clangorous  quality  and  when  the  last  Liszt 
pupil  gives  his  last  recital  we  may  wonder  at 
the  charges  of  exaggerated  realism.  Tem- 
pered realism  is  now  the  watchword.  The 
flamboyancy  which  grew  out  of  Tausig's 
efforts  to  let  loose  the  Wagnerian  Valkyrie 
on  the  keyboard  has  been  toned  down  into 
more  sober,  grateful  coloring.  The  scarlet 
vest  of  the  romantic  school  has  been  out- 
worn ;  the  brutal  brilliancies  and  orchestral 
effects  of  the  realists  are  now  viewed  with 
mild  amusement. 

We    are    beginning    to     comprehend    the 
possibilities  of  the  instrument  and  —  of  our- 
selves.    Wagner  on  the  piano  is  absurd,  just 
as  absurd  as  Donizetti  or  Rossini.     A  Liszt 
228 


A   LISZT    ETUDE 

operatic  transcription  is  almost  as  obsolete  as 
a  Thalberg  paraphrase.  Bold  is  the  man  who 
plays  one  in  public.  Realism  beyond  a  cer- 
tain point  in  piano  playing,  is  dangerous. 
We  are  in  a  transition  period.  With  Alkan 
the  old  virtuoso  technique  ends.  The  new 
was  preached  in  piano  music  by  Johannes 
Brahms  whose  music  suggests  a  continuation 
of  Beethoven's  last  period,  with  an  agreeable 
amalgam  of  Schumann  and  Bach.  The  gray 
is  in  fashion  ;  red  is  tabooed.  The  drunken, 
tattered  gypsy  who  dances  with  bell  and 
cymbalum  accompaniment  in  the  Lisztian 
rhapsody  is  just  tolerated.  He  is  too  strong 
for  our  polite  nostrils.  The  Brahms  rhap- 
sodies say  more ;  they  deal  not  with  exter- 
nals but  with  soul  states.  The  glitter  is 
absent,  brilliancy  is  lacking  but  there  is  a 
fulness  of  emotional  life,  a  depth  and  elo- 
quence of  utterance  that  makes  Liszt's  tinsel 
ridiculous.  To  this  new  school,  not  wholly 
realistic  yet  certainly  not  idealistic  in  its 
aims,  is  piano  playing  and  composing  drift- 
ing. It  may  be  the  decadence —  perhaps  an 
artistic  Gotterdammerung. 

The  nuance  in  piano  playing  is  ruler.     The 

reign    of  noise   is    past.     In    modern    music 

sonority,  brilliancy  is  present,  but  the  nuance 

is  necessary  —  not  alone  the  nuance  of  tone 

229 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

but  of  expression.  Infinite  shadings  are  to 
be  found  where  before  were  but  the  forte,  the 
piano  and  the  mezzo  forte.  Joseffy  taught 
America  the  nuance  just  as  Rubinstein  re- 
vealed to  us  the  potency  of  tone.  As  Paul 
Verlaine,  the  French  poet,  cried :  "  Pas  la 
couleur  rien  que  la  nuance  .  .  .  et  tout  le 
reste  est  litterature." 


II 

"  The  remembrance  of  his  playing  consoles 
me  for  being  no  longer  young." 

This    sentence,    charmingly   phrased    as  it 
is  charming  in  sentiment,  could    be  uttered 
by  no  other  than  Camille  Saint-Saens.      He 
wrote  of  Liszt  and,  as  the  natural  son  of  the 
Hungarian  composer,  musically  speaking,  he 
is  perhaps  better  qualified  to  speak  of  Liszt . 
than  most  critics ;   his  adoration  is  perfectly\ 
excusable,  for  to  him  Liszt  is  the  protagonist ' 
of  the  school  that  threw  off  the   fetters   of ' 
classical  form  only  to  hamper  itself  with  the 
extravagances    of    the    romantic.      They    all 
came  from  Berlioz;   Saint-Saens'  violent  pro- 
test to  the  contrar}';   only  this  much  may  be 
urged    in    the   latter's  favor:   a   great  move- 
ment like  the  romantic  movement  in  music, 
painting  and    literature  appeared  simultane- 
230 


A   LISZT   ETUDE 

ously  in  a  half  dozen  places.  It  was  in  the 
air,  and  catching.  Goethe  dismissed  the 
whole  movement  in  his  usual  Jovian  fashion, 
saying  to  Eckermann :  "  They  all  come  from 
Chateaubriand,"  and  this  is  a  sound  criti- 
cism for,  in  the  writings  of  the  author  of 
The  Genius  of  Christianity  and  Atala  may 
be  found  the  germ-plasm  of  all  the  artistic 
disorder;  the  fierce  color,  the  bizarrerie,  the 
morbid  extravagance,  the  introspective  analy- 
sis—  which  in  Amiel's  case  amounted  almost 
to  mania.  Stendhal  was  the  unwilling  St.John 
of  the  movement  that  captivated  the  powerful 
imagination  of  Franz  Liszt,  as  it  later  caused 
the  Orphic  utterances  of  Richard  Wagner. 

Saint-Saens  sets  great  store  on  Liszt's 
original  compositions,  and  I  am  sure  when 
all  the  brilliant,  empty  operatic  paraphrases 
and  Hungarian  rhapsodies  are  forgotten,  the 
true  Liszt  will  shine  more  brightly.  How 
cheap  and  tinkling  are  these  piano  rhapso- 
dies, and  how  the  old  bones  do  rattle  !  We 
smile  at  the  generation  that  could  adore 
The  Battle  of  Prague,  the  Herz  variations 
and  Kalkbrenner's  fantasias  but  the  next 
generation  will  laugh  at  us  for  tolerating 
Liszt's  rhapsodies  when  Brahms  has  written 
three  such  wonderful  examples.  Technically 
the  Liszt  arrangements  are  excellent  finger 
231 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN    MUSIC 

pieces.  You  may  "  show  off"  with  them 
and  make  much  noise  and  a  reputation  for 
virtuosity  that  would  be  shattered  if  a  Bach 
fugue  were  selected  as  a  test.  One  Chopin 
mazourka  contains  more  music  than  all  of 
Liszt  rhapsodies,  which  are  but  overdressed 
pretenders  to  Magyar  blood.  Liszt's  pomp-'' 
ous,  affected  introductions,  spun-out  scales] 
and  transcendental  technical  feats  are  allj 
foreign  to  the  wild,  native  simplicity  of 
Hungarian  folk-music. 

I  need  not  speak  of  Liszt's  admirable  tran- 
scriptions of  songs  of  Schubert,  Schumann 
and  Franz,  nor  of  his  own  original  songs 
nor  yet  of  his  three  concertos  for  piano.  All 
these  are  witnesses  to  the  man's  geniality, 
cleverness  and  charm.  I  wish  to  speak  only 
of  the  compositions  for  piano  solo  composed 
by  Liszt,  Ferencz  of  Raiding,  Hungaria. 
Many  I  salute  with  the  Eljen  of  patriotic 
enthusiasm,  and  I  particularly  delight  in 
quizzing  the  Liszt-rhapsody  fanatic  as  to 
his  knowledge  of  the  etudes  —  those  wonder- 
ful continuations  of  the  Chopin  etudes  — 
of  his  acquaintance  with  the  Annees  de 
Pelerinage,  of  the  Valse  Oubliee,  of  the 
Valse  Impromptu,  of  the  Sonnets  after  Pe- 
trarch, of  the  nocturnes,  of  the  F  sharp 
impromptu,  of  Ab-Irato  —  that  etude  of 
232 


A  LISZT   ETUDE 

which  most  pianists  never  heard  —  of  the 
Apparitions,  of  the  Legendes,  of  the  Bal- 
lades, of  the  mazourka  in  A  major,  of  the 
Elegies,  of  the  Harmonies  Poetiques,  of  the 
Concerto  Patetico  a  la  Burmeister,  of  many- 
other  pieces  that  contain  enough  music  to 
float  into  glory  —  as  Philip  Hale  would  say 
—  a  half  dozen  piano  composers  at  this  fag- 
end  of  the  century. 

The  eminently  pianistic  quality  of  Liszt's 
original  music  commends  it  to  every  pianist. 
Joseffy  once  said  that  the  B  minor  sonata 
was  one  of  those  compositions  that  played 
itself,  it  lay  so  beautifully  for  the  hand ; 
and  while  I  have  not  encountered  many  self- 
playing  B  minor  sonatas  nor  even  many 
pianists  who  can  attack  the  work  in  a  manner 
commensurate  with  its  content,  I  am  thor- 
oughly convinced  of  the  wisdom  of  the  great 
pianist's  remark.  To  me  no  work  of  Liszt, 
witli  the  possible  exception  of  the  studies, 
is  as  interesting  as  this  same  fantaisie  which 
masquerades  in  H  moll  as  a  sonata.  Agree- 
ing with  Mr.  Krehbiel  and  Mr,  Henderson, 
who  declare  that  they  cannot  find  a  trace 
of  a  sonata  in  the  organic  structure  of  this 
composition,  and  also  with  those  who  declare 
this  work  to  be  an  amplification  of  the  old 
obsolete   form    and   that    Liszt    has   simply 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

taken  Beethoven's  latest  sonata  period  as  a 
starting  point  and  made  a  plunge  for  futurity 
■ —  agreeing  absolutely  with  these  warring 
factions,  and  thus  choking  off  the  contin- 
gency of  an  interesting  argument,  I  repeat 
that  I  find  the  B  minor  sonata  of  Liszt  most 
fascinating  music. 

What  a  tremendously  dramatic  work  it  is  ! 
It  certainly  stirs  the  blood  —  it  is  intense 
and  it  is  complex.  The  opening  bars  are 
so  truly  Lisztian. 

The  gloom,  the  harmonic  haze  out  of 
which  emerges  that  bold  theme  in  octaves, 
the  leap  from  the  G  to  the  A  sharp  —  how 
Liszt  has  made  this  and  the  succeeding  in- 
tervals his  own  !  Power  there  is  —  sardonic 
power,  as  in  the  opening  phrase  of  the  E 
flat  concerto  which  is  mocking,  cynical,  but 
tremendous.  How  incisively  the  composer 
taps  your  consciousness  in  the  next  theme 
of  the  sonata,  with  its  four  knocking  Ds! 
What  follows  is  like  a  drama  enacted  in  the 
nether-world.  Is  there  really  a  composer 
who  paints  the  infernal,  the  macabre,  better 
than  Liszt?  Berlioz  had  the  gift,  so  had 
Raff,  so  has  Saint-Saens,  but  thin,  sharp 
flames  hover  about  the  brass,  wood  and 
shrieking  strings  of  Liszt's  orchestra.  The 
chorale,  which  is  usually  the  meat  of  a 
234 


A  LISZT   IiTUDE 

Liszt  composition,  soon  appears  and  pro- 
claims the  composer's  religious  belief  in 
povverfil  accents,  and  we  are  swept  away  in 
conviction  until  after  that  burst  in  C,  when 
comes  the  insincerity  of  it  in  the  following 
harmonic  sequences.  Then  it  is  not  real 
heart-whole  belief,  and  after  the  faint  return 
of  the  opening  motive,  appears  the  sigh  of 
sentiment,  of  passion,  of  abandonment  which 
engenders  the  notion  that  when  Liszt  was 
not  kneeling  before  a  crucifix,  he  was  be- 
fore a  woman.  He  dearly  loves  to  blend 
piety  and  passion  in  the  most  mystically- 
amorous  fashion,  and  in  this  sonata  with  the 
cantando  espressivo  in  D,  begins  some  lovely 
music,  secular  in  spirit,  mayhap  intended  by 
its  creator  for  pyx  and  reredos. 

But  the  rustle  of  silken  attire  is  in  every 
bar;  sensuous  imagery,  faint  perfume  of 
femininity  lurks  in  each  trill  and  cadence. 
Ah,  naughty  Abbe,  have  a  care!  After  all 
thy  chorales  and  tonsures,  thy  credos  and 
sackcloth,  wilt  thou  admit  the  Evil  One  in  the 
^;uise  of  a  melody  and  in  whose  chromatic 
intervals  lie  dimpled  cheek  and  sunn}'  tress; 
wilt  thou  allow  her  to  make  away  with  thy 
resolutions?  Vade  retro,  Sathanas  !  and  it  is 
done ;  the  bold  utterance  so  triumphantly  pro- 
claimed at  the  outset  is  sounded  with  chordal 
235 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   IMUSIC 

pomp  and  power.  The  hue  and  cry  of  di- 
minished sevenths  begins,  and  so  this  ruddy, 
moving  picture  with  its  swirl  of  intoxicating 
colors  goes  kaleidoscopically  on.  Again  the 
devil  tempts  this  musical  St.  Anthony,  this 
time  in  octaves  and  in  A  major,  and  he  mo- 
mentarily succumbs,  but  that  good  old  family 
chorale  is  heard  again  and  if  its  orthodoxy 
is  in  spots  faulty,  it  serves  its  purpose,  for 
the  Evil  One  is  routed  and  early  piety  breaks 
forth  in  an  alarming  fugue  which,  like  that 
domestic  disease,  is  short-winded.  Anothei 
flank  movement  of  the  "  ewig  Weibliche," 
this  time  in  the  seductive  key  of  B  major, 
made  mock  of  by  the  strong  man  of  music 
who,  in  the  stretta  quasi  presto,  views  his 
early  disorder  with  grim  and  contrapuntal 
glee.  He  shakes  it  from  him  and  in  the 
triolen  of  the  bass,  frames  it  as  a  picture  to 
weep  or  rage   over. 

All  this  leads  to  a  prestissimo  finale  of 
startling  splendor.  Nothing  more  exciting 
is  there  in  the  literature  of  the  piano.  It  is 
brilliantly  captivating,  and  Liszt  the  con- 
queror, Liszt  the  magnificent,  is  stamped  on 
every  octave.  What  gorgeous  swing  and 
how  the  very  bases  of  the  earth  tremble  at 
the  sledge-hammer  blows  from  this  cyclopean 
fist !     Then  follow  a    few  bars  of  that  very 

2X6 


A   LISZT   ETUDE 

Beethoven-like  andante,  a  moving  return  of 
the  early  themes,  and  silently  the  first  lento 
descends  to  the  subterranean  depths  whence 
it  emerged  ;  then  a  true  Liszt  chord-sequence 
and  a  stillness  in  B  major.  The  sonata  in  B 
minor  contains  all  of  Liszt's  strength  and 
weakness.  It  is  rhapsodic,  it  is  too  long,  it 
is  full  of  nobility,  a  drastic  intellectuality 
and  sonorous  brilliancy.  To  deny  it  a  promi- 
nent place  in  the  repertory  of  piano  music, 
were  folly. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  claim  your  con- 
sideration for  the  rest  of  Liszt's  original 
compositions.  In  the  Annees  de  Pelerinage, 
redolent  of  Virgilian  meadows,  with  soft 
summer  airs  shimmering  through  every  bar, 
what  is  more  delicious  than  the  etude  Au 
Bord  d'une  Source  ?  It  is  exquisitely  idyllic. 
Surely  in  those  years  of  pilgrimage  Liszt 
garnered  much  that  was  good  and  beautiful 
and  without  the  taint  of  the  French  salon 
or  Continental  concert  platform. 

Away  from  the  glare  of  gaslight  this  ex- 
traordinary Hungarian  patterned  after  the 
noblest  things  of  nature.  In  the  atmosphere 
of  salons  of  the  Papal  Court  and  the  public, 
Liszt  was  hardly  so  admirable  a  character. 

Oh,  I  know  of  certain  cries  calling  to 
heaven  to  witness  that  he  was  anointed  of  the 
237 


MEZZOTINTS    IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

Lord  !  Pooh  !  if  he  had  not  had  to  cut  and 
run  to  sanctuary  to  escape  two  women  we 
should  never  have  heard  of  Liszt  the  Abbe ! 

One  penalty  of  genius  is  its  pursuit  by 
glossaries  and  gibes.  Liszt  was  no  exception. 
Like  Maeterlinck  and  Ibsen,  he  has  had  many 
things  read  into  his  music;  mysticism  not 
being  forgotten.  Perhaps  the  best  estimate 
of  him  is  the  purely  human  one.  He  was 
made  up  of  the  usual  pleasing  compound  of 
faults  and  virtues,  as  is  any  distinguished  man, 
not  in  a  book. 

The  Mephisto  Valse  from  Lenau's  Faust, 
in  addition  to  its  biting,  broad  humor  and 
Satanic  suggestiveness,  contains  one  of  the 
most  voluptuous  episodes  outside  of  a  score 
by  Wagner.  That  halting  languorous  synco- 
pated, valse-like  theme  in  D  flat  is  marvel- 
lously expressive,  and  the  poco  allegretto 
seems  to  have  struck  the  fancy  of  Wagner, 
who  did  not  hesitate  to  appropriate  from 
his  esteemed  father-in-law  when  the  notion 
struck  him. 

He  certainly  considered  Kundry  Liszt-wise 
before  fabricating  her  motif  for  Parsifal.  In 
the  hands  of  a  capable  pianist  the  Mephisto 
Valse  can  be  made  very  effective.  The 
twelve  great  etudes  should  be  on  the  desk 
of    every    student    of    advanced    technique. 

2.^,8 


A  LISZT   ETUDE 

So  should  the  Waldesrauschen  and  Gnom- 
enreigen  and  I  cannot  sufficiently  praise  the 
three  beautiful  Etudes  de  Concert.  The 
ballades  and  legendes  are  becoming  favorites 
at  recitals.  The  polonaise  in  E,  when  com- 
pared to  the  less  familiar  one  in  C  minor, 
seems  banal.  Liszt's  life  was  a  sequence  of 
triumphs,  his  sympathies  were  boundless,  he 
appreciated  and  even  appropriated  Chopin, 
he  unearthed  Schumann's  piano  music,  he 
materially  aided  Wagner  and  discovered 
Robert  Franz;  yet  he  had  time  for  himself 
and  his  spiritual  nature  was  never  quite  sub- 
merged. I  wish  however  that  he  had  not 
manufactured  the  rhapsodies  and  the  Liszt 
pupil ! 


239 


VI 

THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 


Many  years  ago  a  certain  young  man 
of  o'ervveening  ambition,  with  a  good  piano 
hand  and  a  scorn  for  the  beaten  path,  con- 
ceived the  Gargantuan  idea  that  by  play- 
ing all  the  etudes  written  for  the  piano  he 
could  arrive  at  perfection  by  a  short  cut  and 
tnus  make  up  for  lost  time.  He  was  eigh- 
teen years  old  when  he  began  the  experiment 
and  at  twenty-two  he  abandoned  his  task,  a 
crippled,   a  sadder,   a  wiser  man. 

The  young  man  browsed  on  etudes  by 
Bach,  Czerny,  Loeschorn,  Berens,  Prudent, 
Ravina,  Marmontel,  Plante,  Jensen,  Von  Stern- 
berg, Kullak,  Jadassohn,  Germer,  Reinecke, 
Riemann,  Mason,  Low,  Schmidt,  Duvernoy, 
Doering,  Hlinten,  Lebert  and  Stark,  A.  E. 
Miiller  (caprices),  Plaidy,  Bruno,  Zwintscher, 
Klengel  (canons),  Raff,  Heller,  Bendel,  Neu- 
pert,  Eggeling,  Ehrlich,  Lavallee,  Mendels- 
sohn, Schumann,  Rheinberger,  Alkan,  Fetis, 
240 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

Ferd,  Ries,  Isador  Seiss,  Arthur  Foote,  Anton 
Strelezki,  Carl  Baermann,  Petersilyea,  Krauss, 
D'Abelli,  Golinelli,  Berger,  Kalkbrenner, 
Saint-Saens,  Brahms,  Dre}'schock,  ]\Ioscheles, 
Doehler,  Carl  Heyman,  Hans  Seeling,  dem- 
enti, Thalberg,  Cramer,  Chopin,  Sgambati, 
Liszt,  Hiller,  Brassin,  Paradies  (toccata), 
Hasert,  Faelten,  Vogt,  J.  C.  Kessler,  Mosz- 
kowski,  Henselt,  the  Scharwenkas,  Rubin- 
stein, Joseffy,  Dupont,  Herz,  Kohler,  Speidel, 
Tausig,  Schytte-Rosenthal,  Von  Schlozer, 
Schuett,  Haberbier,  Nicode,  Ketten,  Pixis, 
Litolff,  Charles  Mayer,  BalakiretT,  ]\IacDo\vell, 
Leopold  De  Meyer,  Ernst  Pauer,  Le  Couppey, 
Vogrich,  Deppe,  Raif,  Leschetizky,  Nowa- 
kowski,  Paderewski,  Barth,  Zich}%  Philipp, 
Rosenthal  and  lots  of  names  not  to  be 
recalled. 

And  about  the  same  delightful  chrono- 
logical order  as  the  above  was  observed  in 
the  order  of  study. 

What  could  have  been  the  result  of  such  a 
titanic  struggle  with  such  wildernesses  of 
notes?  What  could  have  been  the  result 
upon  the  cerebral  powers  of  the  young  man 
after  such  a  Brobdingnagian  warfare  against 
muscles  and  marks? 

Alas,  there  was  no  result.  How  could 
there  have  been? 

i6  241 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN   MUSIC 

And  music,  what  became  of  music  in  all 
this  turmoil  of  technics?  Naturally  it  went 
begging,  and  in  after  years  the  young  man, 
observing  how  many  young  people,  ambi- 
tious and  talented,  were  pursuing  the  same 
false  track,  determined  to  think  the  thing 
out,  and  first  went  about  it  by  asking 
well-known  authorities,  and  finally  formu- 
lated the  question  this  way:  What  etudes 
are  absolutely  necessary  for  a  mastery  of 
the  keyboard? 

Since  the  days  of  Carl  Czerny  —  God  bless 
his.  old  toccata  in  C  !  —  instruction  books, 
commonly  known  as  methods,  began  to  ap- 
pear. How  many  I  do  not  propose  to  tell 
you.  You  all  know  Moschelcs  and  Fetis, 
tKe  Kalkbrenner,  the  Henri  Herz,  Lebert  and 
Stark  and  Richardson  (founded  on  Drey- 
schock).  That  they  have  fallen  into  disuse 
is  only  natural.  They  were  for  the  most 
part  bulky,  contained  a  large  amount  of  use- 
less material,  and  did  not  cover  the  ground; 
often  being  reflections  of  a  one-sided  virtu- 
osity. Then  up  sprang  an  army  of  etudes. 
Countless  hosts  of  notes,  marshalled  into  the 
most  fantastic  figures,  hurled  themselves  at 
varying  velocities  and  rhythms  on  the  piano 
studying  world.  Dire  were  the  results. 
Schools  arose  and  camps  within  camps. 
242 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

There  were  those  in  the  land  that  developed 
the  left  hand  at  the  expense  of  the  right  and 
the  other  way  about.  Trill  and  double-note 
specialists  abounded,  and  one  could  study- 
octaves  here  and  ornaments  there,  stiffness 
at  Stuttgart,  flabbincss  with  Deppe,  and  yet 
no  man  could  truthfully  swear  that  his  was 
the  rightful,  the  unique  method. 

Suddenly  in  this  quagmire  of  doubt  and 
dumb  keyboards  arose  a  still  small  voice,  but 
the  voice  of  a  mighty  man.  This  is  what 
the  voice  said : 

"  There  is  but  one  god  in  technic.  Bach, 
and  Clementi  is  his  prophet." 

Thus  spake  Carl  Tausig,  and  left  behind 
him  an  imperishable  edition  of  Clementi ! 

It  was  Tausig's  opinion  that  Clementi 
and  Chopin  alone  have  provided  studies 
that  perfectly  fulfil  their  intention.  It  was 
Tausig's  habit  to  make  use  of  them  before 
all  others,  in  the  school  for  the  higher  de- 
velopment of  piano  playing  of  which  he 
was  the  head.  He  also  used  them  himself. 
Furthermore  he  asserted  that  by  means  of 
those  studies  Clementi  made  known  and  ac- 
cessible the  entire  piano  literature  from  Bach, 
who  requires  special  study,  to  Beethoven, 
just  as  Chopin  and  Liszt  completed  the  scale 
of  dazzling  virtuosity. 

243 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

The  Gradus  was  one  great  barrier  —  a 
mighty  one,  indeed — against  the  influx  of 
barren,  mechanical  or  nonsensical  etudes  for 
the  piano.  Just  read  the  incomplete  list 
above,  and  does  not  your  head  wither  as  a 
fired  scroll  at  the  prospect  of  studying  such 
a  vast  array  of  notes  ?  Then  came  Von 
Biilow  with  his  Cramer  edition,  and  another 
step  was  taken  in  the  boiling  down  move- 
ment. Moreover  the  clever  Hans  took  the 
reins  in  his  hands,  and  practically  said  in  his 
preface  to  the  Cramer  edition  :  "  Here  is  my 
list;  take  and  study  it.  You  will  then  be- 
come a  pianist — if  you  have  talent."  Here 
is  his  list : 

Lebertand  Stark  —  abomination  of  angular 
desolation;  Aloys  Schmitt  exercises,  with  a 
touch  of  Heller  to  give  flavor  and  flesh  to 
the  old  dry  bones;  Cramer  (Biilow),  St. 
Heller,  op.  46  and  47 ;  Czerny  daily  exer- 
cises, and  the  school  of  legato  and  staccato ; 
Tausig's  Clementi ;  Moscheles,  op.  70;  Hen- 
selt,  op.  2  and  5,  and  as  a  bridge  Haberbier's 
Etudes  Poesies  ;  Moscheles,  op.  95,  charac- 
teristic studies  ;  Chopin,  ops.  10  and  25, 
glorious  music ;  Liszt  studies,  Rubinstein 
studies,  and  finally,  as  a  "  topper,"  C.  V. 
Alkan  with  Theodor  Kullak's  octave  studies 
on  the  side. 

244 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

Now  this  list  is  not  bad,  but  it  is  nearly 
twenty-five  years  since  it  was  made,  and  in 
this  quintessentializing  age,  a  quarter  of  a 
century  means  many  revolutions  in  taste  and 
technic.  Condense,  condense  is  the  cry,  and 
thereupon  rose  Oscar  Raif,  who  might  be 
called  the  Richard  Wagner  of  piano  peda- 
gogues, for  with  one  wave  of  his  wand  he 
would  banish  all  etudes,  substituting  in  their 
stead  music,  and  music  only.  Pick  out  the 
difficulties  of  a  composition  for  slow  practice, 
said  Mr.  Raif,  and  you  will  save  time  and 
wear  and  tear  on  the  nerves. 

Raif  made  a  step  in  piano  pedagogy,  ni- 
hilistic though  it  seemed,  and  to-day  we  have 
those  remarkable  daily  studies  of  Isidor 
Phillip,  which  are  a  practical  demonstration 
of  Raif's  theory. 

Then  came  forward  a  few  reasoning  men 
who  said :  "  Why  not  skeletonize  the  whole 
system  of  technic,  giving  it  in  pure,  powerful 
but  small  doses  to  the  student?"  With  this 
idea  Plaidy,  Zwintscher,  Mason  and  Mathews, 
Germer,  Louis  Koehler  and  Riemann  have 
published  volumes  literally  epitomizing  the 
technics  of  the  piano.  Dr.  William  Mason 
in  his  Touch  and  Technic  further  diversifies 
this  bald  material  by  making  the  pupil  attack  it 
with  varying  touches,  rhythms  and  velocities. 
245 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

Albert  R.  Parsons,  in  his  valuable  Syn- 
thetic Method,  makes  miracles  of  music 
commonplace^  for  the  tender,  plastic  mind 
of  childhood.  But  all  these,  while  training 
the  mind  and  muscles,  do  not  fringe  upon 
the  problem  the  young  man  attempted  to 
solve.  That  problem  related  to  studies  only. 
His  hand  was  supposed  to  be  placed  —  in  a 
word  —  to  be  posed. 

He  incidentally  found  that  Heinrich  Ger- 
mer's  Technics  or  Mason's  Touch  and  Tech- 
nic  were  sufficient  to  form  the  fingers,  wrist, 
forearm  and  upper  arm ;  that  on  a  Virgil 
clavier  every  technical  problem  of  the  flat 
keyboard  could  be  satisfactorily  worked  out, 
and  then  arose  the  question:  What  studies 
are  absolutely  essential  to  the  pianist  who 
wishes  to  go  to  the  technical  boundaries  of 
the  flat  keyboard? 

Technics  alone  would  not  do,  for  you  do 
not  get  figures  that  flow  nor  the  sequence  of 
musical  ideas,  nor  musical  endurance,  not  to 
mention  style  and  phrasing.  No  one  work 
on  technic  blends  all  these  requisites.  Piano 
studies  cannot  be  absolutely  discarded  with- 
out a  serious  loss;  one  loses  the  suavity 
and  simplicity  of  Cramer,  a  true  pendant 
of  Mozart;  the  indispensable  technics  and 
foundational  tone  and  touch  of  Clementi,  a 
246 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

true  forerunner  of  Beethoven,  and  then  what 
a  loss  to  piano  literature  would  be  the  de- 
struction of  the  studies  of  Chopin,  Liszt  and 
Rubinstein  ! 

No ;  there  lurks  an  element  of  truth  in  the 
claims  of  all  these  worthy  thinkers,  experi- 
menters and  seekers  after  the  truth.  Our 
young  man,  who  was  somewhat  of  an  experi- 
mental psychologist,  knew  this,  and  earnestly 
sought  for  the  keystone  of  the  arch,  the 
arcanum  of  the  system,  and  after  weary  years 
of  travail  found  it  in  Bach  —  great,  good, 
glorious,  godlike  Johann  Sebastian  Bach,  in 
whose  music  floats  the  past,  present  and 
future  of  the  tone  art.  Mighty  Bach,  who 
could  fashion  a  tiny  prelude  for  a  child's 
sweet  fingers,  a  Leonardo  da  Vinci  among 
composers,  as  Beethoven  is  their  Michel 
Angelo,  Mozart  their  Raphael. 

With  the  starting  point  of  the  first  preludes 
and  exercises  of  Bach  the  young  groper 
found  that  he  had  his  feet,  or  rather  his  hands, 
on  terra  firma,  and  proceeded  with  the  two 
and  three  part  inventions  and  the  suites, 
English  and  French,  and  the  great  forty- 
eight  preludes  and  fugues  in  the  Well 
Tempered  Clavichord,  not  forgetting  the 
beautiful  A  minor  fugue  with  its  few  bars 
of   prelude. 

247 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Before  the  Clavichord  is  reached  the  pupil's 
hand  is  ready  for  Cramer,  and  some  of  these 
beautiful  music  pieces,  many  poetical  in  the 
extreme,  may  be  given.  What  could  follow 
Cramer  more  fitly  than  Clementi,  Tausig's 
Clementi?  A  great  teacher  as  well  as  a 
great  virtuoso,  Tausig  pinned  his  faith  to 
these  studies,  and  so  does  that  other  great 
virtuoso.  Bach  was  also  Chopin's  daily 
bread. 

In  Clementi  one  may  discern  all  the  seeds 
of  modern  piano  music,  and  studying  him 
gives  a  nobility  of  tone,  freedom  of  style  and 
a  surety  of  finger  that  may  be  found  in  no 
other  collection.  Tausig  compressed  Clem- 
enti into  twenty-nine  examples,  which  may 
with  discrimination  be  reduced  to  fifteen  for 
practical  use.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
Billow's  Cramer,  not  much  more  than  half 
being  really  necessary. 

Billow's  trinity  of  Bs  —  Bach,  Beethoven 
and  Brahms  —  may  be  paralleled  in  the  liter- 
ature of  piano  studies  by  a  trinity  of  Cs  — 
Cramer,  Clementi  and  Chopin.  And  that 
leads  to  the  great  question,  How  is  that  ugly 
gap,  that  break,  to  be  bridged  between  Clem- 
enti and  Chopin?  Bijlow  attempts  to  supply 
the  bridge  by  a  compound  of  Moscheles, 
Henselt  and  Haberbier,  which  is  obviously 
248 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

tedious,    and    in    one    case  —  Henselt  —  puts 
the  cart  before  the  horse. 

I  believe  the  gap  can  be  safely  crossed  by 
using  the  two  very  valuable  Hummel  con- 
certos in  A  and  B  minor,  for  between  Chopin 
—  the  early  Chopin  —  and  Hummel  there  is 
a  certain  resemblance.  Some  of  Hummel's 
passage  work,  for  example,  is  singularly 
like  Chopin's  juvenile  style,  and  Chopin,  as 
everyone  knows,  was  extremely  fond  of  the 
Hummel  concertos.  Of  course  the  resem- 
blance is  an  external  one;  spiritually  there 
is  no  kinship  between  the  sleek  pianist  of 
Weimar  and  the  genius  of  Warsaw. 

Yet  pieces  and  concertos  do  not  quite  serve 
the  purpose,  and  may  the  Fates  and  Joseffy 
pardon  me  for  the  blasphemy,  but  I  fear  I  do 
not  appreciate  the  much  vaunted  Moscheles 
studies.  To  be  sure,  they  are  fat,  healthy,  in- 
deed, almost  buxom,  but  they  lack  just  a  pinch 
of  that  Attic  salt  which  conserves  Cramer 
and  Clementi.  Understand,  I  do  not  mean 
to  speak  irreverently  of  Moscheles.  I  think 
that  his  G  minor  concerto  is  the  greatest  con- 
servatory concerto  ever  written,  and  his  various 
Hommages  for  two  dry  pianists  serve  the 
agreeable  purpose  of  driving  a  man  to  politics. 
I  wish  merely  to  estimate  the  op.  70,  95  and 
5 1  from  the  viewpoint  of  a  utilitarian. 
249 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

There  is  nothing  in  op,  70  that  has  not 
been  done  far  better  by  contemporaries  of 
the  composer.  For  instance,  the  double  note 
study  is  weak  when  compared  with  that  best 
of  all  double  note  studies,  Czerny's  toccata 
in  C.  En  passant,  that  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  special  studies  ever  written,  and 
is  certainly  number  one  in  the  famous  trio  of 
double-note  etudes,  the  other  two  being  the 
Schumann  toccata  and  Chopin's  G  sharp 
minor  study.  Include  by  all  means  the 
Czerny  toccata  in  your  list,  and  get  the 
Moszkowski  edition,  which  is  remarkable  for 
nothing  except  that  it  omits  the  celebrated 
misprint  at  the  close  of  the  original  edition. 

There  are  studies  by  Kalkbrenner  notice- 
able for  their  virtuoso  character.  Ries,  too, 
has  done  some  good  work,  notably  the  first 
of  the  set  in  the  Peters'  edition.  Then  there 
is  Edmund  Neupert.  His  hundred  daily 
exercises  are  really  original,  and  contain  new 
technical^  figures,  and  his  etudes  in  the 
Edition  Peters  are  charming.  They  suggest 
Grieg,  but  a  more  virile,  masterful  Grieg. 

Take  the  Thalberg  studies ;  how  infinitely 
more  "  pianistic "  and  poetic  than  the  re- 
spectable Moscheles  !  I  know  that  it  is  the 
fashion  of  the  day  to  sneer  at  Thalberg  and 
his  machine-made  fantaisies,  but  we  should 
250 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

not  be  blind  to  the  beauties  of  his  Art  of 
Singing  on  the  Piano,  his  etudes,  op.  26,  one 
of  them  in  C,  a  tremolo  study,  being  more 
useful  than  Gottschalk's  famous  Tremolo,  not 
forgetting  the  op.  45,  a  very  pretty  theme  in 
repeated  notes. 

Thalberg  has  written  music  that  cannot  be 
passed  over  by  any  fair-minded  teacher  or 
pupil.  Another  objection  to  Moscheles  is 
that  he  is  already  old-fashioned.  His  style 
is  rococo,  his  ornamentation  trite  and  much  of 
his  work  stale.  Study  him  if  you  will ;  a  half 
dozen  of  his  etudes  will  suffice;  but  do  not 
imagine  that  he  prepares  the  hand  for 
Henselt  or  Chopin,  as  Von  Bulow  so  fondly 
fancied. 

There  is  one  man  might  be  suggested  —  a 
composer  who  is  as  much  forgotten  as 
Steibelt,  who  wrote  a  Storm  for  the  piano, 
and  thought  that  he  was  as  good  a  man  as 
Beethoven.  Have  you  ever  heard  of  Joseph 
Christoph  Kessler? 

It  is  difficult  to  discover  much  about  him, 
except  that  Chopin  dedicated  the  German 
edition  of  his  preludes,  op.  28,  "a  Monsieur 
J.  C.  Kessler."  This  same  Kessler  was  born 
in  Augsburg  in  1800;  he  studied  philosophy 
as  well  as  music  at  Vienna,  and  at  Lemberg 
in  the  house  of  his  patron.  Count  Potocki,  he 
251 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

composed  his  op.  20,  twenty-four  studies, 
dedicated  to  J.  N.  Hummel.  Kessler  was  a 
brilliant  pianist,  met  Chopin  at  Warsaw,  and 
later  dedicated  to  him  his  twenty-four  pre- 
ludes, op.  31.  He  was  highly  thought  of  by 
Kalkbrenner,  and  Fetis,  and  Moscheles  in- 
corporated some  of  his  etudes  in  their  Method 
of  Methods.  In  1835  Kessler  attracted 
Schumann's  attention,  and  that  great  critic 
said  that  the  pianist  had  good  stuff  in  him. 
"  Mann  von  geist  und  sogar  poetischem 
geist,"  he  wrote,  but  somehow  his  music  fell 
into  disuse  and  is  hardly  ever  heard.  Fancy 
a  pianist  playing  a  Kessler  etude  in  concert, 
yet  that  is  what  Franz  Liszt  did,  and  though 
the  studies  themselves  hardly  warrant  a  con- 
cert hearing,  there  is  much  that  is  brilliant, 
effective  and  eminently  solid  in  many  of 
them. 

Kessler  died  at  Vienna,  January  13,  1872. 

Let  us  examine  more  closely  these  studies. 
In  four  books,  published  by  Haslinger,  they 
are  too  bulky,  besides  being  fingered  badly. 
Out  of  the  twenty-four  there  are  ten  well 
worthy  of  study.  The  rest  are  old-fashioned. 
Book  I.,  No.  I,  is  in  C  and  is  a  melody  in 
broken  chords  that  is  peculiarly  trying  to  the 
fourth  finger.  The  stretches  are  modern  and 
the  study  is  very  useful.  No.  2,  in  A  minor, 
252 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

is  an  excellent  approach  to  all  interlocking 
figures  occurring  in  modern  piano  music. 
This,  too,  is  very  valuable.  Xo.  3  I  can 
recommend,  for  it  is  a  melody  in  chord  skips. 
No.  4  is  very  useful  for  the  development  of 
the  left  hand.  No.  5  is  confusing  on  account 
of  hand  crossing,  and  it  could  be  dispensed 
with,  while  No.  6  serves  the  same  purpose  as 
No.  4.  If  you  can  play  Nos.  4  and  6  of 
Kessler  you  need  not  fear  the  C  minor  or  C 
sharp  minor  studies  of  Chopin,  wherein  the 
left  hand  plays  such  an  important  part. 

Book  II.  has  a  study  —  Xo.  8  —  in  octaves 
which  might  be  profitable  but  I  shall  not 
emphasize  its  importance,  for  the  Kullak 
octave  school  should  never  be  absent  from 
your  piano  rack.  No.  10,  however  —  a 
unisono  stud}'  —  is  very  good  and  is  a  founda- 
tion study  for  effects  of  this  sort.  It  might 
be  practised  before  attacking  the  last  move- 
ment of  the  B  flat  minor  sonata  of  Chopin. 

But  that  about  comprises  all  of  value  in 
the  volume.  Book  III.  has  little  to  commend 
—  a  study,  No.  13,  same  stiff,  nasty  figures 
for  alternate  hands;  No.  15,  for  the  wrist, 
excellent  as  preparation  for  Rubinstein's 
staccato  etude,  and  No.  18,  some  Chopin- 
like figuration  for  the  right  hand.  Book 
IV.  contains  but  three  studies:  No.  20  for 
253 


MEZZOTINTS  IN   MODERN  MUSIC 

left-hand  culture.  No.  21  for  stretches  and  a 
facile  thumb,  and  No.  24,  a  very  stiff  study, 
which  is  bound  to  strengthen  the  weaker 
fingers  of  the  hand.  Look  at  these  Kessler 
studies,  or,  better  still,  study  a  dozen  of  them, 
and  you  will  find  the  bridge  between  Clementi 
and  Chopin,  and  a  very  satisfactory  bridge 
at  that ;  for  to  the  solidity  of  Clementi,  Kessler 
has  added  a  modern  technical  spirit.  One 
year's  experience  with  Kessler  would  make 
you  drop  your  goody-goody  Moscheles,  or 
at  least  play  him  for  the  historical  interest 
only. 

Naturally  every  pupil  cannot  be  mentally 
pinioned  to  the  same  round  of  studies. 
There  are  many  charming  studies  before 
Cramer;  for  instance  Heller;  try  Eggeling 
and  Riemann  as  preparatory  to  Bach,  Jadas- 
sohn's scholarly  preludes  and  fugues  with  a 
canon  on  every  page,  and  in  the  C  sharp 
minor  prelude  and  fugue  you  will  find  much 
good,  honest  music. 

Then  there  are  lots  of  pretty  special  studies. 
William  Mason's  Etude  Romanza  is  a  scale 
study  wherein  music  and  muscle  are  hap- 
pily blended ;  Schuett's  graceful  Etude 
Mignonne,  Raff's  La  Fileuse,  Haberbier's 
poetical  studies,  especially  the  one  in  D ; 
Isador  Seiss'  very  musical  preludes,  in  which 
254 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

the  left  hand  plays  an  important  part ;  Ludwig 
Berger's  interesting  studies,  and  a  deHghtful 
etude  of  Constantin  Von  Sternberg  in  F,  which 
I  heartily  commend.  Ravina,  Jensen  and 
many,  many  others  have  written  etudes  for 
which  a  light  wrist,  facile  fingers  and  agree- 
able style  are  a  necessity,  but  could  all  be 
easily  dispensed  with.  We  must  not  forget  a 
little  volume  called  Rhythmical  Problems,  by 
Heinrich  Germer,  of  great  value  to  teacher 
and  pupil  alike,  for  therein  may  be  found  a 
solution  of  many  criss-cross  rhythmic  difficul- 
ties. Adolph  Carpe's  work  on  Phrasing 
and  Accentuation  in  Piano  Playing,  attacks 
the  rhythmical  problem  in  the  boldest  and 
most   practical  fashion. 

Works  of  special  character,  like  Kullak's 
Art  of  Touch  and  Ehrlich's  Touch  and 
Technic,  should  be  read  by  the  enterprising 
amateur. 

We  have  now  reached  the  boundaries  of 
the  Chopin  studies,  that  delightful  region 
where  the  technic-worn  student  discerns  from 
afar  the  glorious  colors,  the  strangely  plum- 
aged  birds,  the  exquisite  sparkle  of  falling 
waters,  the  odors  so  grateful  to  nostrils 
forced  to  inhale  Czerny,  Clementi  and  Cramer. 
O,  what  an  inviting  vista !  Yet  it  is  not  all 
a  paradise  of  roses;  flinty  is  the  road  over 
255 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

which  the  musical  pilgrim  toils,  and  while  his 
eye  eagerly  covets  joyous  sights,  his  feet  and 
fingers  often  bleed.  But  how  easily  that  pain 
is  endured,  for  is  not  the  Mount  of  Parnassus 
in  sight,  and  does  not  every  turn  of  the  road 
disclose  fresh  beauties? 


II 

Some  have  expostulated  regarding  the  ad- 
mission of  Henselt  into  the  Pantheon  of 
pianists  —  as  if  we  were  self-constituted 
keepers  of  its  key  —  and  the  assertion  was 
made  that  Henselt's  day  was  past,  his  Etudes 
—  of  course  with  one  exception,  the  Bird 
Study,  —  useless  for  technical  purposes,  and 
his  music,  generally  rococo.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  unpalatable  truth  in  all  this 
that  jars  on  one,  but  nevertheless  I  refuse 
to  give  up  my  belief  in  the  Henselt  etudes 
or  even  in  the  somewhat  artificial  and  over- 
laden F  minor  concerto. 

This  is  an  eminently  realistic  period  in 
piano  literature.  The  brutal  directness  of 
the  epoch  is  mirrored  in  contemporary  music, 
and  with  the  introduction  of  national  color 
the  art  is  losing  much  of  its  old,  well-bred 
grace,  elegance  and  aristocratic  repose.  Nor- 
wegian, Russian,  Bohemian,  Finnish,  Danish 
256 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

peasant  themes  have  all  the  vitality  of  peas- 
ants and  all  their  clumsiness,  too.  When  I 
listen  to  this  sort  of  music  I  see  two  stout 
apple-cheeked  Bauern  facing  each  other  and 
jigging  furiously,  after  the  manner  of  tillers 
of  the  soil.  Such  company  seems  odd  and 
out  of  place  when  introduced  into  the  draw- 
ing room.  But  with  the  Henselt,  how  differ- 
ent !  how  much  at  home  in  palaces  he  is ! 
His  refined,  polished  speech  is  never  conven- 
tional, nor  does  he  tear  passion  to  tatters, 
after  the  approved  modern  manner.  A  high- 
bred man  of  the  world,  raffine  a  bit,  blase,  but 
true  to  the  core  —  a  poet  and  a  musician. 
No,  Henselt  must  not  go,  for  who  may  re- 
place him?  His  gentle,  elegiac  nature,  his 
chivalry,  his  devotion  to  the  loved  one  are 
distinctively  individual.  His  nights  are 
moonlit,  his  nightingales  sing,  but  not  in  the 
morbid,  sultry^ fashion  of  Chopin;  even  his 
despair  in  the  Verlorne  Heimath  is  subdued. 
It  is  the  despair  of  a  man  who  eats  truffles 
and  drinks  Chateau  Yquem  while  his  heart  is 
breaking.  But  there  is  a  note  of  genuineness 
that  is  lacking,  say,  in  Mendelssohn,  who 
played  Ariel  behind  many  musical  masks. 
Henselt  is  never  the  h}'pocrite  ;  he  is  franker 
than  the  Hebraic  Felix,  whose  scherzino  na- 
ture peeps  forth  in  solemn  oratorio,  mocking 
17  257 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

its  owner's  efforts  at  conventional  worship, 
Henselt  is  a  dreamer  with  one  eye  open  ;  he 
never  quite  forsakes  the  real  for  the  ideal. 

But  what  charming  etudes  are  in  op.  2  and 
op.  5  !  What  a  wealth  of  technical  figures, 
what  an  imperative  legato  is  demanded  !  and 
then,  above  all  else,  touch,  euphony!  To 
play  Henselt  with  a  hard,  dry  touch  would  be 
Hamlet  with  the  melancholy  Dane  not  in  it. 
I  remember  reading  in  the  preface  to  a  book 
by  Ehrlich  (some  etudes  of  his)  that  in  the 
modern  sense  a  beautiful  touch  was  a  draw- 
back, for  while  it  might  be  ever  grateful  to 
the  ear,  yet  if  it  were  not  colored  and  modi- 
fied to  suit  the  exigencies  of  modern  music  it 
would  simply  be  a  hindrance.  The  writer 
quoted  Thalberg  as  an  example  of  a  pianist 
with  a  beautiful  touch,  but  invariably  the 
same  style  of  a  singing  touch.  Liszt  was 
instanced  as  a  man  whose  singing  touch 
lacked  the  fat,  juicy  cantabile  quality,  but 
whose  tonal  gamut  was  all  comprehensive, 
and  who  could  be  tender,  dramatic,  poetic 
and  classic  at  will ;  of  course  this  is  the 
modern  ideal  of  piano  playing  —  although 
the  color  business  is  a  bit  overdone,  variety 
in  tinting  at  the  expense  of  good,  solid  brush 
work — }'et  we  cannot  dream  of  Henselt 
being  -  played  with  a  bad  touch.  Fancy 
258 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

mangling  that  delicious  Bird  Study  by  a 
"  modern  "  dramatic  touch  !  Fancy  stroking 
rudely  the  plumage  of  this  beautiful  bird,  and 
have  it  pant  its  little  life  away  in  your  brutal 
grasp  !  I  have  heard  pianists  play  this  etude 
as  if  the  bird  were  a  roc,  and  they  were 
throttling  it  Sindbad  fashion  for  its  fabulous 
egg.  Ah,  Vladimir  Pachmann,  how  that 
little  bird  did  sing  under  your  coaxing  touch  ! 
and  how  tenderly  you  put  it  away  into  its 
silvery  cage  when  it  had  trilled  its  sweet 
pipe  !  You  triple  locked  the  cage,  too,  black 
bearded  Pashaw  that  you  were,  by  playing 
three  chords  in  F  sharp,  mounting  an  octave 
at  a  time  ! 

The  Henselt  studies  should  not  precede 
those  of  Chopin  ;  in  fact,  some  of  the  Chopin 
studies  could  be  sandwiched  in  with  Clementi, 
Moscheles,  if  you  study  him,  and  Kessler. 
Chopin  used  the  ^^loscheles  prelude.  But 
don't  fail  to  study  Henselt.  He  will  give  you 
freedom,  a  capacity  for  stretching,  a  sweet- 
ness of  style  that  no  other  writer  possesses. 
Don't  believe  that  all  the  horde  of  peasants, 
clumsily  footing  their  tunes,  have  come  to 
stay.  Form  will  prevail  in  the  end,  and 
Buffon  said,  the  st}'le  is  the  man.  Much  later 
piano  literature  is  rank,  vulgar,  uncultivated, 
and  is  altogether  inferior  to  compositions 
259 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

of  the  grand  classic  school.  It  is  all 
right  to  put  the  cart  before  the  horse  when 
you  are  backing,  but  there  is  no  progress  in 
the  whole  school  of  composerlings  who  trade 
only  in  the  volks  tunes  of  their  native  land. 
Grieg  has  been  called  the  Northern  Chopin. 
What  a  far  fetched  simile !  The  Grieg 
piano  music  was  once  delightfully  fresh,  and 
it  still  has  a  quaint  ring,  but  what  a  small, 
restricted  genre !  He  said  all  he  had  to  say 
in  his  sonatas  op.  7  and  8,  for  piano  and  piano 
and  violin.  To  attempt  to  pad  his  Scotch- 
Scandinavian  shoulders  so  as  to  fit  the  cloak 
of  the  great  Pole  is  a  silly  sartorial  scheme. 

And  a  superb  maker  of  style  is  Chopin  ! 
Grieg  lacks  style,  lacks  distinction  —  that  is, 
a  fine  style  —  and  while  I  love  his  concerto 
with  its  mosaic  of  melodies,  yet  I  tire  of  the 
eternal  yodel,  the  Scandinavian  triolen  that 
bobs  up  like  a  trade  mark.  His  ballade  in  G 
minor  shows  more  technical  invention  than 
the  concerto. 

What  may  one  not  say  about  the  Chopin 
studies  and  preludes,  the  vade  mecum  of  all 
good  pianists  who  after  they  die  go  to  heaven 
to  study  with  Frederic,  Bach  fugues  and  his 
etudes  !  Burn  every  note  of  all  other  piano 
literature   and   a  mine   of  w'ealth   would  still 

remain. 

260 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

If  you  have  a  bad  left  hand  with  intract- 
able fingers  always  remember  that  Bach  will 
individualize  those  fingers,  and  that  old  Carl 
Czerny  has  written  a  set  of  studies  for  the 
development  of  the  left  hand  (op.  399), 
which,  if  taken  in  moderation  just  after  rising 
in  the  morning,  will  lead  to  limberness  and 
legato.  This  is  only  a  suggestive  aside, 
however.  Albert  Venino  has  written  an 
excellent  Pedal  School.  Many  improve- 
ments have  been  made  in  pedaling,  and 
Mr.  Venino  has  thoroughly  handled  his  sub- 
ject. Someone  has  called  the  pedal  "  the 
breath  of  the  piano,"  "  its  soul,"  which  is 
apposite. 

For  a  light  hand  play  some  of  Mendelssohn 
scherzos,  but  remember  that,  after  all,  not 
velocity  but  tonal  discrimination  is  to  be 
sought  for.  Read  Kullak's  remarks  ap- 
pended to  the  F  major  etude  of  Chopin,  op. 
10.  In  the  Chopin  preludes,  op.  28,  one 
may  discover  many  rich  technical  nuggets. 
If  you  long  for  variety  while  at  this  epoch 
you  may  dig  out  Theodore  Doehler's  fear- 
fully and  wonderfully  made  concert  studies 
and  get  a  glimpse  of  the  technic  that  delighted 
our  fathers.  Interlocked  chords,  trills,  tre- 
mendous scale  passages  and  vapid  harmonies 
distinguish  this  style. 

261 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN   MUSIC 

Great  difficulties  were  imposed  on  the  left 
hand  at  times,  followed  by  mere  accompani- 
ment figures,  while  the  right  hand  flashed  all 
over  the  keyboard.  This  is  found  in  the 
Gottschalk  technic,  which  is  but  a  combina- 
tion of  the  fulminating  brilliancies  of  the 
French  school.  Single  studies  about  this 
time  might  prove  interesting. 

Josefify's  crystalline  etude,  At  the  Spring, 
is  delightful  in  color  and  replete  with  exquis- 
ite touches.  To  play  it  pianissimo  and  pres- 
tissimo in  a  liquid,  cool,  caressing  manner  is 
a  triumph  of  technic. 

Ill-fated  Carl  He3'man  has  in  his  Elfenspiel 
given  us  a  glimpse  of  his  wondrous  technic. 
Vogrich's  Staccato  Etude  is  very  effective. 
Ferdinand  Hiller's  rhythmic  studies  are  excel- 
lent, and  Carl  Baermann's  studies  are  solid, 
satisfying  and  sincerely  musical.  Golinelli, 
a  Milan  pianist,  has  left  twelve  studies  which 
are  practically  obsolete,  though  the  octave 
study  is  occasionally  heard.  In  the  set  is 
one  in  C  sharp  minor  with  a  glorious  rolling 
bass,  which  is  very  effective. 

Speidel  has  written  an  octave  study,  and 
speaking  of  rolling  basses  reminds  us  of  that 
perennial  favorite  Die  Loreley,  by  Hans 
Seeling,  a  talented  young  Bohemian  pianist 
who  died  young  (1828-62).  His  set  of 
262 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

twelve  studies  contain  some  good  things 
such  as  the   Gnomentanz. 

I  don't  know  much  about  Dreyschock's 
Etudes,  except  his  Campanella,  and  some- 
how or  other  I  don't  care  to.  You  remem- 
ber Heine's  remark  about  the  "  hellish 
spectacle"  his  performances  presented? 

Quite  delightful  individualities  are  the 
Scharwenkas  and  IMoszkowski.  Xaver  Schar- 
wenka's  preludes  and  studies  are  among  the 
best  things  he  has  done,  the  concertos  not 
excepted.  The  staccato  etude  is  deservedly 
popular,  and  the  E  flat  minor  prelude  and 
F  sharp  minor  etude  are  models  of  their 
kind.  The  last  named  is  evidently  suggested 
by  a  figure  in  Chopin's  E  minor  concerto, 
first  movement,  and  is  well  worked  out. 
Philipp  Scharwenka  has  also  done  good 
work.  Moszkowski's  group  of  three  studies 
is  quite  difficult;  particularly  the  one  in 
G  flat.  This  latter  smacks  of  artificialit}'. 
Nicode's  two  studies  are  well  made,  and 
Dupont's  toccata  in  B  is  a  very  brilliant  and 
grateful  concert  piece.  Sgambati,  the  Italian 
pianist,  has  written  some  studies  which  are 
interesting  for  people  who  like  Sgambati. 
They  lack  originality.  Saint-Saens'  six 
Etudes  are  very  valuable  and  incidentally 
very  difficult,  the  rhythm  study  in  particular. 
263 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

In  all  this  hurly-burly  don't  forget  youi 
Kullak  octave  school,  and  if  you  really  wish 
to  disencumber  your  mind  of  all  these  extra 
studies  I  have  been  talking  about,  just  throw 
overboard  everybody  but  Bach,  Cramer, 
Clementi,  Chopin  and  Henselt.  If  you  wish 
velocity  coupled  with  lightness  and  supple- 
ness of  wrist,  take  up  old  Scarlatti. 


Ill 

After  Wagner,  Brahms,  After  Chopin? 
Billow  once  confessed  that  Brahms  cured  him 
of  Wagner  mania.  To  alter  Browning  — 
"  Brahms  is  our  music  maker  now."  Brahms, 
whose  music  was  at  one  time  as  an  undeciph- 
erable cryptogram  !  —  Brahms  now  appeals 
to  our  finest  culture.  Without  the  melan- 
choly tenderness  of  Chopin  he  has  not  alto- 
gether escaped  the  Weltschmerz,  but  his 
sadness  is  masculine,  and  he  seldom  if  ever 
gives  way  to  the  hysterical  complainings  of 
the  more  feminine  Pole.  Brahms  is  a  man, 
a  dignified,  mentally  robust  man,  who  feels 
deeply,  who  developed  wonderful  powers  of 
self-control,  and  who  drives  the  musical  nail 
deeply  when  he  hits  it,  as  he  sometimes  does. 

Could  any  styles  be  more  at  variance  than 
Brahms'  and  Chopin's?  Moscheles  declared 
264 


THE  ROYAI.  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

much  of  Chopin's  music  unplayable,  and  it  is 
a  commonplace  of  the  day  to  dismiss  Brahms' 
piano  music  as  "  unpianistic."  Brahms'  affin- 
ity to  Schumann  is  marked ;  perhaps  when 
the  latter  pronounced  such  favorable  judg- 
ment of  Brahms'  op.  i  he  only  acknowledged 
blood  relationship.  Brahms  tells  us  different 
things,  however;  but  as  I  intend  dealing 
more  with  externals  I  will  pass  by  any  ques- 
tion of  musical  content.  To  the  student  of 
the  somewhat  florid  Liszt,  Chopin,  Thalberg 
and  Henselt  school,  the  Schumann-Brahms 
technic  must  offer  few  attractions.  Possibili- 
ties for  personal  display  are  rare — display 
of  the  glittering  passage  sort.  Extensive 
scale  work  is  seldom  found  in  either  com- 
poser, and  old-fashioned  ornamentation  glad- 
dens by  its  absence.  Musically,  the  gain  is 
immense  ;  "  pianistically  "  there  is  some  loss. 
No  more  of  those  delicate,  zephyr-like  figures 
—  no  more  sonorous  and  billowy  arpeggio 
sweeps   over  the  keyboard  ! 

In  a  word,  the  finger  virtuoso's  occupation 
is  gone,  and  a  mental  virtuosity  is  needed. 
Heavy  chordal  work,  arabesques  that  might 
have  been  moulded  by  a  Michel  Angelo,  a 
cantilena  that  is  polyphonic,  not  monopho- 
nic;  ten  voices  instead  of  one  —  all  this,  is 
it  not  eminently  modern,  and  yet  Bachian? 
265 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Schumann  came  from  Bach,  and  Schumann  is 
foster  father  to  Brahms;  but  Bach  and  Bee- 
thoven blood  also  runs  warmly  in  Johannes' 
musical  veins.  Under  which  king  will  you 
serve?  for  you  cannot  serve  two.  Will  you 
embrace  the  Scarlatti,  Emanuel  Bach,  Mozart, 
Cramer,  Chopin,  Liszt  school,  or  will  you 
serve  under  the  standards  of  Bach,  Clementi, 
Beethoven,  Schumann  and  Brahms?  Better 
let  nature  decide  for  you,  and  decide  she 
does  with  such  marked  preferences  that 
often  I  have  attended  piano  recitals  and  wept 
silently  because  the  "piano  reciter"  fondly 
believed  he  was  versatile  and  attempted 
everything  from  Alkan  to  Zarembski.  What 
a  waste  of  vital  force,  what  a  waste  of  time  ! 

I  have,  and  value  them  as  a  curiosity,  a 
copy  of  Liszt's  etudes,  op.  i.  The  edition  is 
rare  and  the  plates  have  been  destroyed. 
Written  when  Liszt  was  fresh  from  the  tute- 
lage of  Carl  Czerny,  they  show  traces  of 
his  schooling.  They  are  not  difficult  for 
fingers  inured  to  modern  methods.  When  I 
first  bought  them  I  knew  not  the  P-tudes 
d'Execution  Transcendentale,  and  when  I 
encountered  the  latter  I  exclaimed  at  Liszt's 
cleverness.  Never  prolific  in  thematic  inven- 
tion, the  great  Hungarian  has  taken  his  op.  i 
and  dressed  it  up  in  the  most  bewildering 
266 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

technical    fashion.       He    gave    these    studies 
appropriate    names,    and    even    to-day    they 
require   a   tremendous    technic    to    do    them 
justice.     The  most  remarkable  of  the  set  — 
the    one    in    F    minor   (No.    lo)  —  Liszt    left 
nameless,   and    like   a   mighty   peak  it   rears 
its  head   skyward,  while   about  it  cluster  its 
more    graceful    fellows,     Ricordanza,    Feux- 
Follets,    Harmonies   du    Soir,    Chasse  Neige, 
and    Paysage.     What  a  superb  contribution 
to  piano  etude  literature    is  Liszt's  !     These 
twelve  incomparable    studies,  the  three  very 
effective    Etudes    de    Concert,    the    Paganini 
Studies,   the   Waldesrauschen,  the   Gnomen- 
reigen,  the  AbTrato,  the  graceful  Au   Lac  de 
Wallenstadt  and  Au  Bord  d'une  Source,  have 
they  not  developed  tremendously  the  techni- 
cal   resources    of  the   instrument?     And    to 
play  them  one  must  have  fingers  of  steel,  a 
brain  on  fire,  a  heart  bubbling  with  chivalric 
grace  and  force.     What  a  comet-like  pianist 
he  was,  this  Magyar,  who  swept  Europe  with 
fire    and  sword,   who    transformed    the    still, 
small  voice  of  Chopin  into  a  veritable  hurri- 
cane !     But  we  can't  imagine  a  Liszt  without 
a  Chopin  preceding  him. 

Liszt  lost,  the   piano  would  lose  its   most 
dashing    cavalier,    and    his  freedom,    fantasy 
and    fire    are    admirable    correctives    for  the 
267 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

stilted  platitudes  of  the  Hummel,  Czerny, 
Mendelssohn  school.  You  can't  —  as  much 
as  you  may  wish  to  —  ignore  Liszt's  technic. 
He  got  out  of  the  piano  an  orchestral  qual- 
ity. He  adv^anced  by  great  wing  strokes 
toward  perfection,  and  not  to  include  Liszt 
were  to  exclude  color,  sonority,  richness  of 
tinting  and  powerful  dynamic  contrasts. 

Liszt  has  had  a  great  following;  you  can 
see  how  much  he  affected  modern  technic. 
Tausig  felt  his  influence,  and  even  Schu- 
mann, whose  setting,  however,  of  the  Paginini 
etudes  is  far  removed  from  Liszt's.  But 
Schumann  certainly  struck  out  a  very  original 
course  when  he  composed  his  Etudes  Sym- 
phoniques.  Here  a  Liszt  style  is  a  bar  to 
faithful  interpretation.  Music,  music,  music 
is  wanted,  with  strong  singing  fingers  and  a 
wrist  of  iron  —  malleable  iron.  The  toccata 
in  C  is  an  admirable  example  of  not  only 
Schumann's  but  also  of  latter  da}'  technic. 

As  in  Brahms'  polyphonic  fingers,  great 
discrimination  of  tone  in  chord  passages  is 
required  here,  and  powers  of  stretching  that 
tax  most  hands  to  their  utmost. 

Brahms   has   reared    upon   this   Schumann 
technic   a   glorious   structure,  whose   founda- 
tions—  Bach-Schumann  —  are  certainly   not 
builded  on  sand.     You  may  get  a  fair  notion 
268 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

of  the  Brahms  piano  technic  by  playing  the 
figure  he  gave  Tausig  for  that  great^  master's 
Daily  Studies,  and  also  in  his  later  fifty-one 
studies.  Look  at  his  wonderful  variations — • 
true  studies;  read  the  Paganini  variations; 
are  they  not  heaven  storming?  Brains,  brains 
and  Bach.  His  studies  on  studies  are  not 
too  entertaining. 

One  is  the  rondo  by  Weber  in  his  C  major 
sonata,  the  so-called  "  mouvement  perpetuel." 
This  has  Brahms  transcribed  for  the  left 
hand,  lifting  the  bass  part  into  the  treble. 
Anything  more  dispiriting  I  cannot  imagine. 
It  makes  one  feel  as  if  the  clock  struck  nine- 
teen in  the  watches  of  the  night.  The  etude 
in  sixths  on  Chopin's  beautiful  F  minor  etude 
in  op.  25  is  an  attempt  to  dress  an  exquisite 
violet  with  a  baggy  suit  of  pepper-and-salt 
clothes.  It  is  a  gauche  affair  altogether,  and 
I  fancy  the  perpetrator  was  ashamed  of  him- 
self, for,  unlike  Joseffy's  astounding  trans- 
cription of  Chopin's  G  flat  etude,  Brahms' 
study  upon  a  study  is  utterly  unklaviermassig. 

Constantin  von  Sternberg  tells  a  story 
about  this  F  minor  etude  of  Brahms-Chopin. 
When  it  first  appeared  Moszkowski  was 
trying  it  over  in  the  presence  of  the  Schar- 
vvenkas  and  Von  Sternberg.  Not  content 
with  playing  the  right  hand  triplets  in 
269 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

double-sixths,  as  Brahms  had  done,  he  trans- 
posed them  to  the  left  hand,  went  to  work 
rather  hesitatingly,  saying,  naturally  enough  : 
"  Why  not  do  it  this  way?  " 

It  out-Heroded  Herod,  and  Xaver  Schar- 
wenka  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  when  Mosz- 
kovvski  stuck  for  a  moment  he  strode  up  to 
the  pianist,  seized  his  nose  and  chin,  opened 
his  mouth,  gazed  in  it,  and  then  said  in  a 
slightly  irritated  voice :  "  That  is  the  worst 
of  these  machines ;  they  will  get  out  of 
order  sometimes." 

Bendel's  etude  in  double-sixths  is  a  good 
study,  evidently  modelled  after  Chopin's  G 
sharp  minor  study.  Zarembski  has  written  a 
finger-breaker  in  B  flat  minor,  and  the  two 
Von  Schloezer  studies  are  by  no  means  easy 
studies,  but  there  are  technical  heights  yet  to 
be  explored.  Charles  V.  Alkan,  the  Parisian 
pianist,  has  concocted,  contrived  and  manu- 
factured about  twenty-seven  studies,  which 
almost  reach  the  topmost  technical  notch, 
and  are,  to  confess  the  truth,  unmusical. 
They  are  the  extreme  outcome  of  the  Liszt 
technic  and  consequently  have  only  histori- 
cal value.  Don't  play  them,  for  you  can't, 
which  remark  is  both  Celtic  and  convenient. 

Rubinstein's  op.  23  —  his  six  etudes  —  can- 
not be  lightly  passed  over.     The  first  in  F 
270 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

and  the  well-known  staccato  etude  in  C  should 
be  studied.  He  has  also  written  two  studies, 
both  in  the  key  of  C,  one  of  which  is  called 
Study  on  False  Notes,  and  sometimes  the 
Handball.  They  are  all  very  "  pianistic." 
Strelezski's  five  concert  studies  are  very  mod- 
ern and  require  a  cyclopean  grip.  Nos.  4 
and  5  are  the  most  musical.  The  same  com- 
poser's etude,  The  Wind,  is  an  excellent  study 
in  unison.     The  valse  etude  is  artificial. 

You  can  play  Balakirefifs  Islamey,  a  fan- 
tasy Orientale,  if  you  wish  some  muscle 
twisting. 

No  need  of  telling  you  of  Tausig's  Daily 
Studies.  No  pianist  should  be  without  them. 
The  Rosenthal-Schytte  studies  are  rich  in 
ideas,  and  Schytte  has  written  some  Vortrag 
studies  that  are  excellent. 

Among  modern  artistic  studies  Saint- 
Saens',  and  MacDowell's  are  the  best  and 
most  brilliant,  and  Godowsky  has  made 
some  striking  paraphrases  of  Chopin  studies. 
A  novelty  are  the  Exercises  Journalieres 
preceded  by  a  preface  from  the  pen  of 
Camille  Saint-Saens.  Tausig  thought  of 
such  a  comprehensive  scheme  as  this,  and 
Kullak,  in  the  third  book  of  his  octave 
school,  puts  it  partially  into  execution.  But 
it  remains  for  Isidor  Philipp  to  work  the 
271 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

formula  out  to  its  utmost,  and  the  result  is 
a  volume  unique  in  the  annals  of  piano 
literature  and  of  surpassing  value  to  pianist, 
teacher  and  pupil. 

This  volume,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  say- 
ing, is  the  most  significant  since  the  posthu- 
mous publication  of  Tausig's  Daily  Studies. 
All  pianists  have  felt  the  need  of  such  a 
work,  and  in  his  dumb-thumb  way  Oscar 
Raif  taught  his  pupils  that  the  manner  to 
master  difficulties  was  to  walk  chromatically 
about  the  passages  in  question.  At  a  blow 
Philipp  demolishes  thousands  of  technical 
studies. 

Philipp's  scheme  is  this:  his  collection  is 
only  for  pianists  who  have  a  sound  ordinary 
technic,  say  a  technic  which  enables  one  to 
play  the  Beethoven  sonatas  of  the  first  and 
second  period,  Clementi,  Cramer,  and  of 
course  Bach. 

Philipp  begins  with  extensive  exercises,  for 
extended  harmonies  are  the  keynote  of 
modern  piano  music.  Then  follow  studies 
for  independence  of  the  fingers,  for  the  left 
hand  alone,  for  scales,  arpeggios,  double 
notes,  trills,  octaves  and  chord  playing, 
rhythmic  studies  and  sundry  studies  that  can- 
not be  classified.  These  are  all  original, 
and  are  the  result  of  the  most  independent 
272 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

researches.  Conciseness  is  aimed  at.  They 
are  reinforced  by  examples  from  Alkan  to 
W'ilhners  — the  latter  being  the  hero  of  the 
trill  in  the  annals  of  piano  playing. 

Now,  suppose  you  have  each  day  an  hour 
for  technical  study.  You  sit  down  before 
your  keyboard  ;  play  one  study  for  finger 
extension.  Here  is  one  on  the  first  page  — 
a  terror,  but  a  salutary  one.  Then  take  the 
example  —  it  is  from  the  F  sharp  minor  pre- 
lude of  Chopin.  If  you  do  not  care  for  that 
there  is  the  peroration  of  the  E  minor  con- 
certo of  Chopin,  the  trill  on  B  natural  in  the 
left  hand.  Alkan;  Henselt  (an  example 
from  the  first  study  in  op.  5  in  C)  —  you 
can  take  your  choice. 

Now  for  independence  of  the  fingers. 
Only  two  examples  are  given.  If  you  master 
them  you  will  have  ten  perfectly  autonomous 
fingers.  One  is  from  a  study  by  Alkan  and 
the  other  from  Saint-Saens,  op.  52.  This 
latter  is  the  famous  study  in  A  minor.  It 
is  invaluable. 

Studies  for  the  left  hand :  one  example 
from  the  last  movement  of  the  Appassionata, 
you  remember  the  figure  in  F  minor.  Others 
by  Beethoven  from  concerto  and  variations. 
Chopin  is  represented  by  studies  and  extracts 
from  the  concertos,  and  a  page  is  devoted  to 
18  273 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

the  G  sharp  minor  section  of  the  Revolution- 
ary study,  the  Tristan  and  Isolde  episode. 
Liszt,  Georges  Mathias,  Brahms  are  all 
quoted  with  judgment. 

Scales:  Copious  quotations  from  Chopin, 
Hummel,  the  A  minor  study  of  the  former 
has  a  variant  which  gives  the  left  hand  em- 
ployment. Liszt,  Henselt,  Rubinstein,  the  odd 
little  chromatic  episode  in  the  last  movement 
of  the  D  minor  concerto,  and  a  finger-breaker 
by  Henri  Fissot,  in  which  the  thumb  is 
treated  to  convict  labor,  as  it  deserves. 

We  have  now  reached  the  arpeggio  section. 
After  a  lot  of  figures  from  which  you  may 
select  your  pattern  for  the  day — notably  the 
arpeggio  of  the  dominant  seventh,  the  most 
difficult  and  therefore  the  most  valuable  —  you 
may  indulge  in  examples  from  Beethoven, 
Chopin,  Thalberg  —  the  master  of  arpeggios 
—  Delaborde,  Rubinstein  and  Saint-Saens. 

Do  not  forget  that  these  examples  are 
selected  from  representative  works,  works 
that  are  played  and  are  selected  with  rare 
skill  and  appreciation. 

The  double  note  chapter  is  admirable, 
although  I  notice  M.  Philipp  clings  to  the 
Chopin  fingering  in  chromatic  double  notes, 
the  minor  third,  etcetera.  The  examples  are 
from  Beethoven,  Hummel,  Weber,  Cramer, 
274 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

Chopin  (the  first  chromatic  scale  in  op,  25, 
No.  6) ;  Schumann,  Litolff,  Saint-Saens, 
Liszt,  Rubinstein,  Delaborde,  Alphonse  Du- 
vernoy,  a  valuable  and  ingenious  study; 
Marmontel,  and  last,  but  by  no  means 
least,  Philipp  himself.  One  example  of  his 
is  from  a  Bach  fugue  in  D  in  double  sixths ! 

The  trill  department  —  this  sounds  like 
the  Bon  Marche  —  contains  examples  from 
Beethoven,  Chopin,  Willmers,  Doehler,  Liszt, 
Brahms,  a  monstrous  octave  trill  from  the  F 
sharp  minor  sonata,  Duvernoy,  Czerny  and 
Liszt.     It  is  as  complete  as  possible. 

The  octave  section  contains  more  modern 
examples  than  Kullak.  Saint-Saens,  Die- 
mer,  Rimski-Korsakofif  and  Tschaikowsky 
are  some  of  the  moderns  quoted. 

Then  follow  rhythmical  examples,  skips, 
tremolo,  a  good  example  is  from  Thalberg's 
beautiful  and  sadly  neglected  theme  and 
variations  in  A  minor,  op.  45  and  a  lot  of 
tangled  tricks  from  the  works  of  Lalo,  DTndy, 
Bernard,  Pierne  and  other  modern  French- 
men. I  wish  M.  Philipp  had  quoted  Thal- 
berg's famous  tremolo  study  in  C  It  is  the 
best  of  its  class.  But  to  be  hypercritical 
before  this  ingenious  catalogue  would  be 
impertinence,  even  ingratitude.  From  the 
maddening  mass  of  classical  and  latter-day 
275 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

piano  literature  the  editor  has  selected  and 
fingered  a  most  representative  series  of  the 
difficulties  of  piano  music.  A  few  bars,  at 
most  a  page,  are  given,  and  we  do  not 
wonder  that  Saint-Saens  called  the  work  a 
vade  mecum  for  pianists. 

Not  content  with  his  gigantic  task  this 
astonishing  Philipp  has  made  another  collec- 
tion of  studies  for  the  left  hand  alone. 

His  compilation  is  so  complete  that  I  must 
speak  of  it  in  detail.  Indeed  I  could  write 
much  on  this  topic.  I  know  so  many  stu- 
dents, so  many  able  pianists  who  have  gone 
through  the  valley  of  technical  death  in 
search  of  a  path  to  Parnassus,  that  I  hail 
these  short  cuts  with  joy.  Remember  I  am 
of  a  band  of  admirable  lunatics  that  played 
all  the  studies  in  the  world  when  I  was  a 
young  fellow !  What  ignorance,  depraved 
and  colossal,  was  it  not  ? 

Czerny,  who  is  old  fashioned  in  most  of 
his  studies,  has  nevertheless  written  some  of 
the  best  studies  for  the  left  hand  solo.  He 
wrote  them  because  no  one  else  would.  He 
looks  in  his  pictures  as  if  he  might  be  that 
sort  of  a  man. 

Philipp  the  indefatigable  has  sifted  Czerny, 
and  the  left  hand  is  treated,  not  with  arpeg- 
giated  contempt  —  most  composers  write  as 
276 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

if  this  hand  was  only  for  accompanying  pur- 
poses —  but  as  if  it  were  tlie  companion  and 
co-sharer  of  the  tlirone  of  digital  indepen- 
dence. All  sorts — but  not  too  many  —  of 
preparatory  exercises  are  there,  thanks  to 
the  ingenuity  of  the  editor,  who  must  be  a 
teacher  of  the  first  magnitude.  In  addition 
to  Czerny  we  get  passages  from  Weber,  right 
hand  passages  transposed,  from  Mendelssohn, 
Hummel,  Schumann,  the  first  page  of  the 
great  Toccata  in  C,  transpositions  from  Bach 
and  Chopin,  a  big  Kessler  study,  the  first 
study  in  C  of  Chopin,  the  first  study  in  A 
minor  for  the  left  hand  —  a  pet  idea  of 
Josefify's  —  a  transposition  from  the  B  flat 
minor  prelude,  a  capital  notion  for  velocity 
playing,  another  transposition  of  the  A  minor 
study  in  op.  25,  hideously  difficult.  The 
same  with  the  G  sharp  minor  study,  Godow- 
sky  has  a  version  for  concert  performance, 
but  this  is  for  one  hand  only;  the  double 
sixth  study  in  D  flat,  a  Kreutzer  violin  ca- 
price in  octaves  in  E,  a  Kreutzer  6tude  in 
octaves,  and  the  F  minor  study  of  Chopin, 
op.  25,  No.  2  in  octaves. 

The  volume  ends  with  a  formidable  version 
in  octaves  for  left  hand  of  the  last  movement 
of  Chopin's  B  flat  minor  sonata.  This  is 
truly  a  tour  de  force. 

277 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

This  clever  Parisian  has  also  written  six 
new  concert  studies.  The  first  is  a  double 
note  arrangement  of  the  D  flat  valse.  Tausig, 
Rosenthal  and  Josefify  have  done  the  same 
thing.  But  Philipp  has  written  the  trio  in 
three  clefs  so  as  to  render  clear  the  contra- 
puntal figure  over  the  melody,  which  figure 
is  the  first  theme.  His  second  study  is  the 
same  valse  written  for  the  left  hand,  the  ac- 
companiment being  transposed  to  the  right. 
The  third  study  is  the  F  minor  study  in  trip- 
lets of  Chopin,  most  ingeniously  transcribed 
for  left  hand.  Brahms  turned  this  study  into 
forbidding  thistles  of  double  sixths.  The 
fourth  study  is  devoted  to  the  G  flat  6tude  of 
Chopin,  the  one  on  the  black  keys.  It  is  in 
double  notes,  fourths,  sixths  and  octaves. 
Josefify  ten  years  ago  anticipated  Philipp. 

For  his  fifth  concert  study  I  congratulate 
M.  Philipp,  He  has  taken  Chopin's  first  A 
minor  study  in  op.  lO  and  turned  it  into  a 
bombarding  chord  study,  something  after  the 
manner  of  the  sombre  and  powerful  B  minor 
octave  study.  The  blind  octave  is  the  tech- 
nical foundation  of  this  transcription.  It  is 
very  effective.  The  book  closes  with  a  mag- 
nificent paraphrase  of  Weber's  perpetual 
movement  from  the  sonata  in  C,  Brahms 
and  others  have  transcribed  this  for  the  left 
278 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

hand.  It  is  aptly  dedicated  to  the  master,  a 
veritable  master,  Camille  Saint-Saens.  I 
wish  I  could  enlarge  on  the  "  pianistic " 
qualities  of  this  piece.  Oddly  enough  it  sug- 
gests in  a  distant  fashion  Rubinstein's  C 
major  study,  he  one  d'Albert  plays  so  mas- 
terfully. Phi  pp  has  made  the  changes  in 
the  most  musicianly  manner. 

M.  Philipp  has  credited  to  Theodore  Ritter, 
now  dead,  the  octave  version  of  the  rondo  of 
Chopin's  E  minor  concerto.  To  Tausig  be- 
longs the  honor.  I  wonder  why  he  failed  to 
quote  the  stunning  etude  in  B  flat  minor  by 
Franz  Bendel  ?  After  Chopin's  it  is  the 
most  valuable  of  all  the  studies  for  the  play- 
ing; of  double  sixths. 

Not  satisfied  with  making  a  unique  volume 
of  daily  studies,  he  has  out-Tausiged  Tausig 
in  the  new  Etudes  d'Octaves.  The  studies 
are  after  Bach,  Clementi,  Cramer  and  Chopin, 
with  original  preludes  by  Dubois,  Delaborde, 
Emile  Bernard,  Duvernoy,  Gabriel  Faure, 
Matthias,  Philipp,  Pugno  and  Widor.  I  ad- 
vise you  to  play  Kullak  upside  down  before 
you  touch  these  newstudies  on  studies — these 
towering  Pelions  piled  on  metacarpal  Ossias. 

Philipp    begins   with   the    E    flat   study  of 
Clementi,  the   one   in   broken   octaves;    this 
he  transforms  to  a  repeated    note    exercise. 
279 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

The  first  two  studies  in  the  Gradus  he 
makes  octaves.  So  far  nothing  remarkable 
nor  difficult.  Then  follows  the  B  flat  inven- 
tion of  Bach  —  in  two  voices  —  in  octaves; 
the  study  in  E  by  Cramer  treated  as  a  study 
in  sustained  tones,  like  the  second  section  of 
Chopin's  great  octave  study  in  B  minor.  VVe 
begin  to  grow  warm  over  Cramer's  first  fa- 
mous study  in  C,  all  bedeviled  into  chords 
and  taken  at  the  interesting  metronomic 
tempo  of  1 16  to  the  quarter  notes.  It  sounds 
like  a  gale  from  Rubinstein. 

As  all  flesh  is  grass,  so  all  difficult  piano 
studies  become  food  for  the  virtuoso.  Brahms 
in  a  moment  of  heavy  jocundity  made  night 
and  Chopin  hideous  with  the  study  in  F  minor 
by  forcing  the  sweet,  coy,  maidenly  triplets 
to  immature  coquetting  with  rude  and  crack- 
ling double  sixths.  Philipp  is  too  polite,  too 
Gallic  to  attempt  such  sport,  so  he  gives  the 
^tude  in  unison  octaves.  It  is  a  good  study, 
but  one  prefers  the  original. 

Cramer's  left  hand  study  in  D  minor  is 
treated  to  octaves,  and  so  the  A  minor  study 
of  Chopin  in  op.  lO  is  worked  up  magnifi- 
cently and  is  really  worth  the  while  to  play 
as  well  as  to  practice  —  a  distinction  you  will 
observe.  But  more  momentous  matter  fol- 
lows. I  expected  that  I  should  see  the  day 
280 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

when  Weber's  so-called  Perpetual  Motion  — 
the  rondo  in  C  —  would  be  played  in  octaves 
by  children,  but  I  little  dreamed  of  the  daring 
of  the  latter-day  pianist.  The  tenth  study 
in  this  book  is  in  interlocked  octaves,  after 
the  manner  of  Tausig,  and  is  in  the  key  of 
B  flat  minor.  Can  you  guess  on  what  it  is 
built?  No  less  a  theme  than  the  last  move- 
ment of  the  B  flat  minor  sonata  of  Chopin,  and 
it  is  a  presto.  Tausig  is  reported  to  have  said 
that  the  movement  reminded  him  of  the 
wind  sighing  over  the  grave  of  the  beloved, 
and  Josefify  told  me  that  Tausig  could  play 
it  in  octaves. 

Like  all  legends  of  the  sort,  you  treasure  it 
and  grow  reverend,  but  when  you  see  these 
octaves  on  the  printed  page  you  shudder. 
Where  will  technic  end?  It  is  worse  than 
Brahms  in  his  stupendous  Paganini  studies. 
In  a  study  by  Paderewski,  The  Desert,  may 
be  found  just  such  toying  with  the  gigantic, 
the  ineffable.  Philipp,  with  his  precise,  prac- 
tical mind,  pins  his  miracles  to  the  paper, 
and  while  we  curiously  study  the  huge  wings 
of  this  phenomenal  bird  we  are  not  attracted. 
The  study  is  written  for  a  dozen  living  pianists 
at  the  utmost. 

Henselt  has  written  some  studies  which  he 
calls  Master  Studies  for  Piano.  They  are 
281 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN   MUSIC 

really  studies  for  virtuosi,  and  should  be 
severely  left  alone  by  any  but  finished  pianists. 
Carlyle  Petersilyea  once  made  a  sort  of  tech- 
nical variante  on  Chopin's  study  in  sixths  in 
op.  25.  Henselt  goes  upon  the  principle 
that  pianists  grow  weary  of  playing  apiece  in 
the  same  manner;  that  the  fingers  become 
indolent  from  the  fatal  facility  which  follows 
upon  many  performances  of  a  composition. 
So  he  takes  up  the  familiar  difficulty  and  views 
it  from  another  rhythmical  point  of  view. 
He  distorts,  perverts,  alters,  and  almost  roots 
up  from  the  harmonic  and  rhythmic  soil,  the 
figuration,  and  believes  that  with  a  new 
aspect,  a  fresh  difficulty,  that  you  will  return 
refreshed  in  finger  and  mentally  invigorated 
to  the  normal  version.  And  the  great  pianist 
and  pedagogue  has  accomplished  his  task 
with  a  vengeance. 

There  are  167  examples;  some  make  you 
shudder,  some  cause  a  smile,  all  command 
respect  for  the  agility  of  the  paraphrase,  the 
downright  cleverness  of  the  changes.  When 
you  have  thoroughly  mastered  the  Philipp 
Daily  Studies  —  which  will  be  never  —  I  com- 
mend these  Henselt  perversions.  But  may 
God  preserve  you  from  dallying  too  long 
in  these  curious  and  repulsive  pastures,  for 
can  you  imagine  anything  more  horrible  than 
282 


THE  ROYAL  ROAD  TO  PARNASSUS 

a  pianist  assailed  in  the  full  glare  of  a  public 
performance  by  a  Henselt  version  and  unable 
to  resist  the  temptation  ! 

Some  of  the  perversions  are  worthy  of  the 
consideration  of  a  musical  Lombroso.  There 
is  the  G  fiat  study  of  Chopin,  The  Butterfly; 
Henselt  has  lots  of  fun  with  the  piece,  and 
his  humor  peeps  out  at  the  close,  for  instead 
of  the  epigrammatic  ending  —  alas!  so  sel- 
dom adhered  to  by  foolish  pianists  —  he 
makes  an  elaborate  run  and  delays  the  end, 
a  delicate  and  satiric  commentary  on  the 
ambitious  pounder  who  will  insist  on  bowl- 
ing all  over  the  keyboard  before  he  lets  go 
the  key. 

Chopin  is  liberally  paraphrased,  and  the 
version  of  the  E  minor  valse  is  fit  for  concert 
performance,,  so  brilliant  and  effective  is  it. 
There  are  examples  from  Beethoven,  Henselt 
—  he  has  mocked  his  own  Bird  Study  —  Hum- 
mel, Mendelssohn,  Weber,  Cramer,  Liszt, 
Raff,  Schumann  and  Moscheles.  Yet  one 
coyly  suggests  these  studies.  They  are  apt 
to  hoist  the  pianist  with  his  own  petard. 

I  once  asked  Rosenthal  what  finger  exer- 
cises or  studies  he  employed  to  build  up 
that  extraordinary  mechanism  of  his.  He 
startled  me  by  replying  "  none."  Then  he 
explained  that  he  picked  out  the  difficulties  of 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

a  composition  and  made  new  combinations  ot 
them.  Every  rope  has  its  weak  spot  and  in 
every  composition  there  is  the  one  difficulty 
that  will  not  down.  Master  it  and  you  are 
technically  master  of  all  you  survey.  The 
whole  question  may  be  summed  up  this  way : 
study  a  few  Cramer,  a  few  Clementi  etudes  for 
elegance  and  endurance,  avoid  daily  studies 
except  those  few  that  by  experience  you  dis- 
cover limber  up  your  wrist  and  fingers.  Play 
the  Chopin  etudes,  daily,  also  the  preludes, 
for  the  rest  trust  to  God  and  Bach.  Bach  is 
the  bread  of  the  pianist's  life ;  always  play 
him  that  your  musical  days  may  be  long  in 
the  land. 


VII 

A   NOTE   ON   RICHARD   WAGNER 


If  it  had  been  hinted  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury ago  that  in  Richard  Wagner's  veins  there 
flowed  Semitic  blood,  roaring  laughter  would 
have  streaked  critical  Europe.  The  race 
Wagner  reviled  in  speech  and  pamphlet  — 
although  he  never  disdained  its  financial 
generosity  —  the  hated  Jew,  daring  to  claim 
kinship  with  him,  might  have  set  in  motion 
the  mighty  spleen  of  the  master,  and  perhaps 
the  world  would  be  the  poorer  for  another 
Das  Judenthum  in  der  Musik.  Wagner's 
hatred  of  the  chosen  race  is  historical.  Ben- 
efits ever  forgotten,  he  never  lost  a  chance  to 
gibe  at  Meyerbeer,  to  flout  some  wealthy 
Hebrew  banker.  Yet  gossips  have  been  at 
work  subjecting  the  Wagnerian  pedigree  to 
keen  scrutiny.  There  is  a  well-defined  le- 
gend at  Bayreuth,  at  Leipsic,  that  Wagner 
was  the  natural  son  and  not  the  stepson  of 
Ludwig  Geyer,  his  mother's  second  husband. 
285 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Of  course  this  is  not  so,  for  it  would  make 
Wagner  a  half  Jew,  the  actor  Geyer  being  of 
Jewish  descent.  Wagner,  they  say,  resembled 
him  more  in  features,  tastes  and  tempera- 
ment than  he  did  his  putative  father,  the 
worthy  police  magistrate, 

A  musical  authority,  whose  name  I  with- 
hold by  request,  called  my  attention  to  the 
curious  fact  that  the  portrait  of  Wagner's 
father  does  not  hang  upon  the  walls  of 
Wahnfried.  Perhaps  as  Geyer  was  the 
father  Wagner  best  remembered  he  did  him 
the  honor  of  placing  his  picture  in  juxtapo- 
sition with  his  mother's  in  the  Bayreuth 
home.  There  is  no  other  sound  evidence 
that  may  be  pressed  into  service  for  this 
fugitive  theory.  Fried  rich  Nietzsche,  after 
the  rupture  with  Wagner,  openly  called  him 
a  Jew  born  in  the  Judengasse  —  the  ghetto  of 

Leipsic — and  this  latter  assertion  happens 
to  be  true-  Another  hot-headed  hunter  of 
degeneration,  Heinrich  Pudor,  makes  the 
same  statement. 

In  critical  circles  there  seems  to  be  a  dis- 
position to  avoid  challenging  these  facts  for 
they  asperse  the  memory  of  a  good  mother. 
Mr.  Krehbiel  laughs  at  the  story  as  silly, 
summoning  as  witness  the  fact  that  Wagner's 
elder  brother  resembled  him  in  a  striking 
286 


A   NOTE   ON   RICHARD  WAGNER 

manner.  I  place  little  credence  in  the  rumor, 
believing  it  to  have  originated  with  Nietzsche 
and  revived  later  by  Pudor.  There  is  much 
in  Richard  Wagner's  polemical  writings  —  his 
almost  insane  hatred  of  the  Jews  —  and  in 
the  sensuous  glitter  and  glow  of  his  music 
that  suggests  the  imagination  of  the  Oriental. 
Some  of  it  is  certainly  unlike  any  music  made 
by  a  German  —  indeed,  to  me,  with  their 
vibratile  rhythms,  their  titanic  and  dramatic 
characterization,  the  Wagner  plays  suggest 
the  Celt,  for  the  Celt,  as  Matthew  Arnold 
wrote,  has  natural  magic  in  his  poetic  speech, 
and  magical  in  their  quality  are  the  utterances 
of  Wagner. 

"Was  Wagner  German  at  all?"  asks 
Nietzsche,  a  rabid  hater  of  the  Christ  idea, 
who  first  threw  Schopenhauer  overboard, 
only  to  do  the  same  for  his  Wagner  worship. 
He  continues :  "  We  have  some  reasons  for 
asking  this.  It  is  difficult  to  discern  in  him 
any  German  trait  whatsoever.  Being  a  great 
learner  he  has  learned  to  imitate  much  that 
is  German  —  that  is  all.  His  character  itself 
is  in  opposition  to  what  has  hitherto  been 
regarded  as  German — not  to  speak  of  the 
German  musician  !  His  father  was  a  stage- 
player  named  Geyer.  A  Geyer  is  almost  an 
Adler  —  Geyer  and  Adler  are  both  names  of 
287 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

Jewish  families.  What  has  hitherto  been  put 
into  circulation  as  the  '  Life  of  Wagner '  is 
fable  convenue,  if  not  worse.  I  confess  ray 
distrust  of  every  point  which  rests  solely  on 
the  testimony  of  Wagner  himself  He  had 
not  pride  enough  for  any  truth  whatsoever 
about  himself;  nobody  was  less  proud;  he 
remained,  just  like  Victor  Hugo,  true  to 
himself  even  in  biographical  matters  —  he 
remained  a  stage-player." 

Naturally,  all  that  Nietzsche  writes  about 
Wagner  may  be  challenged,  although  he  is 
fairer  to  the  great  music-dramatist  than  Max 
Nordau.  Nordau  really  borrowed  Nietzsche's 
denunciatory  thunder,  and  then  abused  the 
sadly  stricken  philosopher  for  having  assailed 
the  musician.  Altogether  a  very  Nordau-like 
proceeding. 

I  should  like  to  believe,  but  cannot,  that 
Schopenhauer  ruined  Wagner.  This  is  one 
of  Nietzsche's  favorite  contentions.  The  fact 
is,  the  artist  was  stronger  than  the  philoso- 
pher in  Wagner.  The  reflective  man  in 
him  was  generally  overcome  by  the  man  po- 
etic. Witness  Tristan  and  Isolde,  which  was 
composed,  as  Wagner  confessed,  in  direct 
defiance  of  his  pet  theories.  Even  the  pes- 
simism of  the  Ring  never  crowds  out  the 
dramatic  power  of  the  work.  Who  would 
288 


A   NOTE   ON   RICHARD  WAGNER 

wish  to  cut  from  Die  Meistersinger  Hans 
Sachs'  beautiful  monologue?  It  is  the  pass- 
ing of  a  cloud  over  the  shining  sun.  All 
thoughtful  humans  are  pessimistic  at  times, 
but  the  strong  man  and  woman  soon  tire  of 
the  cui  bono  and  find  work  near  at  hand. 
Wagner  was  caught  in  the  currents  of  his 
time,  though  he  really  escaped  many  meta- 
physical vortices.  That  he  was  any  more  a 
Christian  than  a  Schopenhauerian  at  the  end 
of  his  life  I  doubt.  Wagner  was  primarily  an 
artist  and,  as  an  artist,  could  not -help  seeing 
the  artistic  possibilities  in  the  superb  cere- 
monial of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  ;  could 
not  help  feeling  the  magnificent  story  of  the 
Christ;  could  not  escape  being  touched  by 
the  beauties  of  pity,  of  redemption,  and  by  the 
Quietist  doctrines  of  Buddhism  filtered  through 
the  hard  brain  of  Arthur  Schopenhauer.  All 
these  elements  he  blended  dexterously  in 
Parsifal,  and  we  know  with  what  result. 

Keep  in  your  mind  that  Wagner  the  artist 
was  a  greater  man  than  Wagner  the  vegeta- 
rian, Wagner  the  anti-vivisectionist,  Wagner 
the  revolutionist,  the  Jew  hater,  the  foe  of 
Meyerbeer  and  Mendelssohn,  and  greater 
than  Wagner  the  philosopher.  It  is  a  mis- 
taken partisanship  that  attaches  to  his  every 
word  deep  significance.  He  dearly  loved 
19  289 


MEZZOTINTS   IN    MODERN    MUSIC 

paradox,  and  his  versatility  was  such  that  he 
wore  many  masks.  Not  that  1  doubt  his  sin- 
cerity, but  the  enormously  emotional  nature 
of  the  man,  his.  craving  for  artistic  excite- 
ment, his  agitated  life  often  led  him  to  write 
and  speak  in  misleading  terms.  Wagner 
was  not  a  Christian ;  he  was  not  a  passive 
Buddhist  —  far  from  it;  he  was  no  lover  of 
the  Jewry,  and  his  pessimism,  like  Schopen- 
hauer's, was  thin  skinned.  Both  men  were 
desperately  in  earnest  and  both  enjoyed  life 
—  one  in  execrating  it,  the  other  in  works  of 
beauty. 

II 

I  have  often  wondered  where  Wagner's  re- 
ligion, his  art,  his  metaphysics,  in  a  word  his 
working  theory  of  life,  would  have  led  him, 
had  he  lived  longer.  That  he  had,  dimly  float- 
ing in  his  extraordinary  brain,  the  outlines  of 
a  greater  work  than  Parsifal  we  learn  in  his 
correspondence  with  Liszt.  He  died  with  the 
Trilogy  incomplete,  for  Tristan  and  Isolde, 
Parsifal,  and  The  Penitents,  (Die  BiJsser ) 
were  to  have  been  this  Trilogy  of  the  Will 
to  Live,  Compassion  and  Renunciation. 

Wagner  was  going  to  the  East  with  many 
other  Old  World  thinkers.  That  negation  of 
290 


A   NOTE   ON   RICHARD  WAGNER 

the  will  to  live,  so  despised  by  his  former 
admirer  Nietzsche,  had  gripped  him  after  he 
forsook  the  philosophy  of  Feuerbach  for 
Schopenhauer  in  1854.  He  eagerly  absorbed 
this  Neo-Buddhism  and  at  the  time  of  his 
death  was  fully  prepared  to  accept  its  final 
word,  its  bonze-like  impassivity  of  the  will, 
and  sought  to  translate  into  tone  its  hope- 
lessly fatalistic  spirit,  its  implacable  hatred  of 
life  in  the  flesh. 

That  the  world  has  lost  a  gigantic  experi- 
ment may  not  be  doubted,  but  that  it  has  lost 
the  best  of  Wagner  I  greatly  question.  In 
Parsifal  his  thematic  invention  is  not  at 
its  high-water  mark,  despite  his  wonderful 
mastery  of  technical  material,  the  marvellous 
moulding  of  spiritual  stuff.  Even  if  Parsifal 
is  almost  an  abstraction,  is  not  that  "  howling 
hermaphrodite,"  as  Hanslick  called  Kundry, 
a  real  flesh  and  blood  creation?  It  is  with 
no  fears  of  Wagner's  power  of  characteriza- 
tion failing  that  we  should  concern  ourselves, 
for  the  gravity  of  the  possible  situation  lies 
in  the  fact  that  Wagner  had  drifted  into 
the  philosophical  nihilism,  the  intellectual 
quietism  which  is  the  sweet,  consoling  pitfall 
of  the  thinker  who  wanders  across  the  border- 
line of  Asiatic  religious  ideals.  The  glim- 
mer of  Christianity  in  Parsifal  seems  like  the 
291 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

last  expiring  atom  of  Wagner's  faith  in  the 
value  of  Christ.  That  he  used  the  church  in 
the  dramatic  sense  cannot  be  doubted,  and 
that  in  the  ritual  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church  he  found  grateful  material,  which  he 
employed  so  deftly  yet  so  reverently  in 
Parsifal,  is  also  incontrovertible  ;  but  in 
Wagner's  Christianity  I  place  no  faith. 

He  went  to  the  roots  of  Christianity,  its 
Buddhistic  roots,  and  there  sought  philo- 
sophical consolation.  Nietzsche's  attack  on 
Wagner's  supposed  religious  predilections  is 
wide  of  the  mark ;  no  one  was  less  likely 
to  indulge  in  sacerdotal  sentimentalism  than 
Richard   of  the  giant  brain. 

The  speculation  is  a  fascinating  one,  espe- 
cially when  you  remember  that  he  changed 
the  title  of  his  projected  work  from  The 
Victors  (Die  Sieger)  to  The  Penitents.  First 
spoken  of  in  1856,  the  name  was  altered  a 
quarter  of  a  century  later.  Wagner  had  en- 
countered Oriental  philosophy  in  the  inter- 
val, and  its  mysticism  had  become  a  vital, 
integral  part  of  his  strenuous  intellectual  and 
emotional  life. 

It  is  not  safe  yet  to  pass  judgment  on  this 
emotional  product  of  the  age ;  Wagner  car- 
ried within  his  breast  the  precious  eucharist 
of  genius.  In  music  he  is  the  true  Zeit  Geist 
292 


A  NOTE   ON   RICHARD  WAGNER 


III 

It  was  a  German  critic  of  acuity  who  said 
of  the  music  of  Tristan  and  Isolde,  "  The 
thrills  relieve  each  other  in  squads."  Wagner 
certainly  touched  the  top-notch  of  his  almost 
boundless  imaginings  in  this  supreme  apothe- 
osis of  lyric  ecstasy.  A  scorching  sirocco 
for  the  soul  are  the  tremendous  blasts  of  this 
work.  Nothing  has  ever  been  written  that 
is  comparable  with  it  in  intensity,  and  it  is 
safe  to  predict  that  future  generations  will 
not  hear  its  double.  Wagner  declared  that 
when  he  wrote  it  he  could  not  have  composed 
it  otherwise ;  it  is  full  blown  with  his  imper- 
fections, his  glaring  excellences,  his  noble 
turgidity,  his  lack  of  frugality,  his  economy 
of  resource,  his  dazzling  prodigality,  his 
riotous  tonal  debaucheries,  his  soggy  prolix- 
ity and  his  superhuman  fascinations. 

All  that  may  be  urged  against  Wagner's 
ways  I  am,  perforce,  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge. He  is  all  that  his  musical  enemies 
say,  and  much  more ;  but  how  wilted  are 
theories  when  in  the  full  current  of  this  tropi- 
cal simoon !  I  have  steeled  myself  repeat- 
edly when  about  to  listen  to  "  Tristan  and 
Isolde  "  and  summoned  ud  ali  iny  ptejudic^«, 
293 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

bade  my  feeble  faculties  perform  their  task 
of  analysis,  but  am  breathless  and  vanquished 
before  the  curtain  rises. 

What  boots  it,  then,  to  gird  critically  at 
an  art,  a  devilish,  demoniac  art  that  enchants, 
thrills  and  makes  mock  of  all  spiritual  the- 
ories about  the  divine  in  music?  Here  it  is 
no  longer  on  the  heights  as  in  Beethoven's 
realm.  The  philosophy  of  Schopenhauer 
hurled  at  your  head  in  the  pessimistic  dual- 
ism of  the  famous  love  scene  availeth  not 
to  stem  the  turbulent,  sensuous  torrent. 
Tristan  and  Isolde  is  the  last  word,  the 
very  deification  of  carnalism.  Call  it  what 
pretty  titles  you  may,  wreathe  the  theme 
with  the  garlands  of  poetic  fancy,  the  stark 
naked  fact  stares  at  you  —  a  strong,  brutal, 
fact.  It  is  the  man  and  the  woman,  noth- 
ing more,  nothing  less.  The  love  potion 
does  but  unloosen  their  tongues,  for  both 
were  mute  lovers  before  Brangane  juggled 
with  the  fatal  brew.  Not  in  the  sacred  writ- 
ings of  the  Jews,  not  in  Shakespeare,  are 
expressed  such  frenetic  passions.  The  songs 
of  Solomon  are  mildly  Virgilian  in  compari- 
son. This  distinction  must  be  conferred 
upon  Wagner;  he  is  the  greatest  poet  of 
passion  the  world  has  yet  encountered.  As 
fiercely  erotic  as  Swinburne,  with  Swinburne's 
294 


A   NOTE   ON   RICHARD  WAGNER 

matcliless  art,  he  has  a  more  eloquent,  a 
more  potent  instrument  than  words ;  he  has 
the  orchestra  that  thunders,  surges  and 
searches  out  the  very  heart  of  love,  A 
mighty  master,  but  a  dangerous  guide. 

I  am  not  an  ardent  admirer  of  all  the 
Wagnerian  play-books.  There  is  much  that 
is  puerile,  much  that  is  formless,  and  many 
scenes  are  too  long.  It  was  Louis  Ehlert 
who  said  that  nothing  but  the  sword  would 
suffice,  and  an  heroic  sword,  to  lop  off  super- 
fluities. To  the  argument  that  much  lovely 
music  is  bound  to  be  sacrificed  by  such  a 
summary  proceeding,  let  the  answer  be  — 
sacrifice  it.  "The  play's  the  thing;"  dra- 
matic form  must  come  first,  else  the  whole 
Wagnerian  framework  topples  groundward. 

If  you  consider,  you  will  discover  that 
Tristan  is  not  the  protagonist  of  this  fiery 
soul  drama.  He  accepts  the  potion  in  the 
first  act,  gets  stabbed  in  the  second,  and 
tears  the  bandage  from  his  wound  in  the 
third.  Isolde  is  the  more  absorbing  figure. 
It  is  her  enormous  passion  that  breaks  the 
barricades  of  knightly  honor  and  reserve. 
She  it  is  who  extinguishes  the  torch  that 
signals  Tristan.  She  summons  him  with  her 
scarf;  she  meets  him  more  than  half-way; 
she  dares  all,  loses  and  gains  all. 
295 


MEZZOTINTS   IN   MODERN   MUSIC 

She  is  not  timid,  nor  does  she  beheve  in 
prudent  measures.  Shakespeare  in  Juhet, 
Ibsen  in  Hedda  Gabler,  never  went  such 
lengths.  I  think  that  to  Wagner  must  be 
awarded  the  honor  of  .discovering  the  new 
woman.  Isolde's  key  is  high-pitched  from 
the  outset.  And  with  what  superb  wrath  she 
cries : 

"  Destroy  this  proud  ship,  swallow  its 
shattered  fragments  and  all  that  dwells  upon 
it;  the  floating  breath  I  will  give  you,  O 
winds,  as  a  reward " !  And  Wagner  has 
wedded  this  dramatic  invocation  to  magnifi- 
cent music. 

The  composer  often,  in  the  intense  absorp- 
tion of  creation,  forgot  the  existence  of  the 
Kantean  categories  of  space  and  time.  It 
requires  strong  nerves  to  sit  out  Tristan 
and  Isolde  with  unflagging  interest;  not 
because  it  bores,  Hut  because  it  literally 
drains  you  of  your  physical  and  psychical 
powers.  The  world  seems  drab  after  this 
huge  draught  that  Wagner  proffers  us  in 
an  exquisitely  carved  and  chased  chalice,  but 
one  far  too  large  for  average  human  capacity. 
He  has  raised  many  degrees  the  pitch  of 
passion,  and  this  work,  which  I  think  is  his 
most  perfect  flowering,  sets  the  key  for  all 
future  composers. 

296 


A   NOTE   ON   RICHARD  WAGNER 

Let  Nordau  call  us  degenerates  and  our 
geniuses  mattoids,  we  can  endure  it.  We 
are  the  slaves  of  our  age,  and  we  adore 
Wagner  because  he  moves  us,  thrills  and 
thralls  us.  His  may  not  be  the  most  spiri- 
tual art,  but  it  is  the  most  completely- 
fascinating. 


197 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Abend  dammert,  das  mondlicht 

scheint,  Der,  28. 
Adelaide,    Liszt's   transcription 

of,  193- 
Albert,  Eugen,  d',  226,  279. 
—  Concertos  in  B  minor  and  E 


Bach,J.S.,  Master  of  Brahms, 24. 
Works  : 

—  Chaconne,  50. 

—  English  and  French  Suites, 
247. 

—  Fugue  in  D,  275. 

—  Inventions,  247. 


major,  52. 
Alkan,  Charles  V.,  215,  229,  240,  I  —  Preludes  and  Fugues,  260. 

244,  266,  270,  273.  —  Variations,  35-36. 

Alps,  musical   picture  of,  119- , —  Well-tempered      Clavichord, 


120. 
Amiel,  10,  203,  231. 
Antokolsky,  82. 
Antonia,  wife  of  Tschaikowsky, 

88,  89,  91. 
Apocalypse,  148. 
Arenski,  S3. 
Arinianes,  Hall  of,  120. 
Armida,  Garden  of,  iSi. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  22,  2S7. 

—  Description  of  Shelley,  205. 
Astarte,  119. 

Atala,  231. 

Audley,  Mme.  G..  213. 

Aus  der  Ohe,  Adele,  87. 

Bach,  J.  S.,  3,  7, 12,  21,  22, 35, 
54.  64,  151,  171,  195,  219, 
221,  227,  229,  240,  243,  247, 
248,  254,  261,  264,  266,  269, 
272,  277,  279,  284. 

—  Best  preparation  for  Brahms, 


Harmonies  of,  22. 


247. 
Bach,  Emanuel,  266, 
Baermann,  Carl,  241. 

—  Studies,  262. 
Balakireff,  83,  241, 

—  Islamey,  271. 
Baltimore,  195. 

Balzac,  remark  about  Chopin, 
203. 

Barbadette,  H.,  213. 

Barrett-Browning,  Elizabeth, 
207. 

Barth,  241. 

Battle  of  Prague,  the,  231. 

Baudelaire,  200,  203--'04,  205, 
207,  210. 

Bayreuth,  285,  286. 

Beethoven,  L,  van,  3,  5,  7,  8, 
u,  12,  15,  20,  21,  27,  29,  30, 
33.  35.  64.  97.  102,  136,  144. 
147,  149,  151,  152,  155,  156, 
158,  166,  171,  178,  218,  219, 
221,  227,  229,  243,  247,  266, 
272,  274,  2S3,  294. 


.■50 1 


INDEX 


Beethoven,  L.  van, —  Continued. 

—  Anticipates    Schumann    and 
Cliopin,  58. 

—  Letters,  216. 

—  Master  of  Brahms,  24. 
Works : 

—  Adelaide,  193. 

—  Appassionata,  273. 

—  Eroica  Symphony,  137. 

—  Fifth  Symphony,  145. 

—  Fugue,  4S. 

—  Ninth  Symphony,  148. 

—  Op.  34,  36. 

—  Scherzo,  174. 

—  Scherzo  in  Fifth  Symphony, 

33- 

—  Sonata,  222. 

—  Sonata  in  E  minor,  op.  90,  27. 

—  Sonata  in  B  flat  (Hammer- 
Klavier),  op.  106,  24. 

^-  Variations,  36. 

—  Variations  (Tlnrty-two),  37. 
Beggar,The  (Turgenev),  99-100. 
Bellini,  39. 

Bendel,  Franz,  240. 

—  Treatment  of  sixths,  50. 

—  i^tude  in  double-sixths,  270. 

—  :6tude  in  B  fiat  minor,  279. 
Bennett,  Joseph,  213,  221. 
Berens,  240. 

Berger,    Ludwig,  studies,    241, 

255- 
Berlin,  145. 
Berlioz,  Hector,  5,  8,  12,  15,  92, 

93.  135.  139.  142.   147.   15S, 

194,  230,  234. 
Bernard,  Emile,  275,  279. 
Bizet,  149. 

Blackburn,  Vernon,  210. 
Blake,    William,    definition    of 

genius,  201. 
Borodin,  S3,  85  ■ 


Bortiansky,  choruses  revised  by 

Tschaikowsky,  129. 
Boston,  149. 
Boston     Symphony    Orchestra, 

'49 
Brahms,  Johannes,  1-80,  92,  97, 
101,  10S-109,  129,  130,   139, 
144,  151,  157,  229,  241,  266, 
268,  274,  278,  286. 

—  Admirer  of  Wagner,  7. 

—  Adversary  of  Wagner,  9. 

—  Affinities  with  Schumann,  12, 
265,  266. 

—  Antagonists  of,  22-23. 

—  Appreciation   of  Tschaikow- 
sky, 139. 

—  Choice  of  keys,  20. 

—  Classicist,  3. 

—  Coldness  of,  16. 

—  Color  of,  6,  9. 

—  Compared  to  an  architect,  5. 

—  Compared  to  Bach  and  Bee- 
thoven, II. 

—  Compared  to  Chopin,  58. 

—  Compared  to  Ibsen,  7. 

—  Compared  to  Paganini,  57. 

—  Counterpoint  devices,  24. 

—  Economy  of  notes,  20. 

—  Enigmatic,  78. 

—  Erudition  of,  21. 

—  Ehlert's  estimation  of,  14-15. 

—  Fertility  of,  i,  4. 

—  Feminine  side  of,  21. 

—  Figures   of    accompaniment, 
20. 

—  Form,  2,  5,  13. 

—  Harmonies,  22. 

—  Ingenuity  of,  5,  47. 

—  Intellectual  mood,  64. 

—  Interpretation,  54. 

—  Invention,  20. 

—  Inversion,  method  of,  14. 


302 


INDEX 


Brahms,  Johannes,  Irony,  32. 

—  Magyar  spirit,  21. 

—  Melodies,  19,  28. 

—  Modes,  13. 

—  Modesty,  79. 

—  Modulation,  13. 

—  Nationality,  10,  59, 

—  Orchestration,  19. 

—  Pessimism,  63. 

—  Piano  music,  8,   15,   17,   22, 
75.  269. 

—  Rhythm,  7. 

—  Romanticist,  3,  11,  12. 

—  Sadness  of,  264. 

—  Scherzi,  compared  with  Cho- 
pin's, 20. 

—  Schumann  and,  12. 

—  Song  writer,  3. 

—  Spitta,  opinion  of,  13. 

—  Technique  of,  iS,  47. 

—  Temperament  of,  10. 

—  Tonalities,  13. 

—  Use  of  arpeggio,  7. 

—  Use  of  canon,  13. 

cr  Use  of  chord  of  the  sixth, 

—  Use  of  mixed  scales,  20. 

—  Use  of  octave,  13. 

—  Use  of  triolen,  iS. 

—  Vogrich's  estimate  of  piano 
pieces,  77. 

—  Working  out,  20. 

—  Workmanship  of,  7. 
Works : 

—  Ballades,  17,  32,  33-34. 

—  Capriccio  in  B  minor,  5o. 

—  Capriccio  in  C  sharp  minor, 
62. 

Capriccio   in    D    minor,    18, 
70. 

—  Capriccio  in  F  sharp  minor, 
59. 


Brahms,  Johannes,  Capriccio  in 
G  minor,  6S, 

—  Capriccio  fantastic  in  op.  76, 

63- 

—  Capriccios  and  intermezzi,  17 

—  Clavierstiicke,  op.  76,  59-64. 

—  Cradle-song,  70-71. 

—  Concerto  in  B  flat  major,  21, 

52,  53- 

—  Concerto  in  D  minor,  44,  52- 

—  Etude  after  Chopin,  50,  269. 

—  Fantaisien,  op.  116,  67. 

—  Fugue,  op.  24,  47-4S. 

—  German  Requiem,  2,  6,  44. 

—  Horn  trio,  19. 

—  Hungarian  Dances,  17,  18,  51. 

—  Hungarian     music,    Brahms 
studies  in,  20. 

—  Intermezzi,    17,    61,    62,  67, 
6S-69,  "JO,  71. 

—  Paganini  studies,  281. 

—  Paganini  variations,  269. 

—  Piano  quintet,  F  minor,  6. 

—  Piano  studies,  17,  18,  49-51. 

—  Piano  trio  in  B,  32. 

—  Rhapsodie   in    B  minor,   15, 
64-65. 

—  Rhapsodie  in  G  minor,  65-66. 

—  Rhapsodies,  17,  59,  64,  229. 

—  Rondo    (Weber),     "  mouve- 
ment  perpetuel,"  269. 

—  Scherzo,  17,  24,  29,  30. 

—  Sextet  in  B  flat,  30. 

—  Sonata  in  C  major,  op.  i,  12, 
23,  24,  25. 

—  Sonata  in  F  minor,  6, 19,  27- 
28,  29-30. 

—  Sonata  in  F  sharp  minor,  18, 
25-27,  275. 

—  Sonata  from  sextet  in  B  flat, 


303 


INDEX 


Brahms,  Johannes,  Songs,  31. 

—  Schicksalslied  (Song  of  Des- 
tiny), 2,  6. 

—  Symphonies,  19,  44,  171. 

—  Variations,  op.  9,  31,  46-49. 

—  Variations,  first  set,  35,  36- 
40. 

—  Variations,  op,  24  (Fugue  by 
Handel),  47. 

—  Variations,  op.  21,  47-48, 

—  Variations  (Hungarian),  47. 

—  Variations  (Paganini),  48- 
49. 

—  Waltzer,  op.  39,  17,  40,  41- 
46. 

■ —  Waltzer  (Love-Song),  46. 

—  Waltzer,  op.  21,  76-77. 

—  Waltzer,  op.  118,  72-74. 

—  Waltzer,  op.  iig,  74-75. 
Brahmsianer,  44-45. 
Brangane,  294. 

Brassin,  241, 

Browning,  11,  65,  96,  165,  264. 

Bruno,  240. 

Buffon,  259. 

Burmeister,  Richard,  191. 

Burton,  201. 

Byron,  95,  203. 

—  Manfred,  93. 

Carnegie  Hall,  87. 

Carpe,  Adolph,  "  Phrasing  and 
Accentuation  of  Piano-Play- 
ing," 255. 

Chadzko,  A.,  215. 

Chateaubriand,  231. 

Childe,  Roland,  66,  1S2. 

Chopin,  F.  F.,  8,  16,  17,  20,  21, 
22,  30,  39,  64,  82,  93,  lOI, 
108,  115,  128,  146,  148,  160- 
223,  232,  241,  243,  247,  248, 
249,  251,  253,  257,  259,  264, 


Chopin,  F.  F.,  —  Continued. 

265,  266,  267,  273,  274,  275, 
277,  278,  279,  2S0. 

—  Adaptability     of     music     to 
piano,  218. 

—  Admiration  of  Weber,  193. 

—  Anticipaticn  of  Brahms,  58. 

—  Aristocratic  nature  of,  204. 

—  Arpeggi  of,  224. 

—  Ballades       compared      with 
Brahms',  34. 

—  Bibliography,  212-214. 

—  Biography  (Niecks),  211. 

—  Coda.,  1 82. 

—  Compared  to  Beethoven,  178. 

—  Compared  to  Childe  Roland, 
1S2. 

—  Compared  to  Poe,  196-210. 

—  Correspondence,  216. 

—  Degrading  of,  163. 

—  Discoveries  in  chromatic  har- 
monies, 164,  208. 

—  Dreamer,  The,  218,  219. 

—  Early  works,  197-198. 

—  Editions  of,  212. 

—  French  blood  of,  84. 

—  And  George  Sand,  160. 

—  The  Greater,  162. 

—  Greatest  works  of,  173. 

—  Influence  of,  208. 

—  Interpretation  of,  212. 

—  And  Kalkbrenner,  192. 

—  Last  composition,  198. 

—  Manipulation  of  mixed  scales, 

83- 

—  Manliness  of,  224. 

—  Music  of  middle  period,  15. 

—  Musical  influences  of,  195. 

—  Philipp's    arrangements    ol 
277-281. 

—  Piano  music  of,  15. 

—  Pupils,  215. 


304 


INDEX 


Chopin,   F.    F.,    Revolutionary 

study,  274. 
■ —  Rubato,  219. 

—  OnScIiumann'sCarneval,  194. 

—  Speech    to    Louis  Philippe's 
Aide-de-camp,  195. 

—  Temperament  of,  10. 

—  Tempi,  1S3-184. 

—  Thalberg,  meeting  with,  192. 

—  True  and  untrue,  211. 

—  Use  of  chromatic  scale,  S3. 

—  Use  of  harmonies,  83. 

—  Wagnerian  melody  in,  164. 
Works  : 

—  Ballade  in  A  flat,  165,  176. 

—  Ballade  in  F  major,  67,  t66. 

• —  Ballade  in  F  minor,  15,  166, 
173,  222. 

—  Ballade  in  G  minor,  165. 

—  Barcarolle,  172,  222. 

—  Berceuse,  15,  70,  171. 

—  Bolero,  172. 

—  Butterfly,  The  (G  flat  etude), 
2S3. 

—  Concertos,  186-192. 

—  Concerto   in    E    minor,  263, 
279. 

—  Concerto  in  F  minor,  19S. 

—  :^tudes,    15,    164,    166-167, 
232,  255-256,  260,  284. 

—  ^tude  in  A  flat,  75. 

—  I?tude  in  A,  277. 

—  :6tude  in   A  minor,  op.   10, 
274,  277,  278,  280. 

—  iStude    in    B   minor   (octave 
study),  278,  2S0. 

—  :^tude  in  B  minor,  1S2. 

—  £tude  in  C,  277. 

—  l^tude   in    C   minor,  op.    10, 
164. 

—  ]^tude    in   C  minor,  op.  25, 
167,    173- 


Chopin,  F.  F.,  Etude,  F  major, 
op.  10,  261. 

—  Etude,  F  minor,  27S,  280. 

—  Etude,  F  minor,  op.  25,  No. 
2,  50.  77,  27S. 

—  £tude,  G  flat,  278. 

—  Etude,   G  sharp  minor,  250, 
270. 

—  Etude  in  sixths,  op.  25,  282. 

—  Fantasie,   F  minor,   15,  165, 
222. 

—  Fantasie,  op.  49,  172. 

—  Fantasie  Impromptu,  1 67,180. 

—  Fantasie  Polonaise,  164,  168, 
220,  222. 

—  Four  ballades,  165. 

—  Impromptus,  163,  167. 

—  Mazourkas,     163,     167-168, 
218.  222. 

—  Mazourkas,  op.  6,  197. 

—  Mazourkas,  op.   7,  198. 

—  Mazourka,  A  minor,  198. 

—  Nocturnes,  170,  198,  222. 

—  Nocturne  in  B,  171. 

—  Nocturne  in  C  sharp,  218. 

—  Nocturne  in  C  sharp  minor, 
170,  171.  ^ 

—  Nocturne  in  E,  171. 

—  Nocturne  in  E  flat,  163,   196, 
206. 

—  Nocturne  F  minor,  13. 

—  Op.  2,  16. 

—  Op.  10  and  op.  25,  244. 

—  Polonaises,  16S. 

—  Polonaise,  A  flat,  219. 

—  Polonaise,  C  major,  197. 

—  Polonaise,  C  minor,  219. 

—  Polonaise,  E  flat  minor,  222. 

—  Polonaise,   F    sharp    minor, 
168-170,  193,  218,  219,  222. 

—  Polonaise  Fantasie,   op.   61, 
19S. 


305 


INDEX 


Chopin,  F.  F.,  Preludes,  15, 
57,  162,  171-172,  251,  252, 
261,  2S4. 

—  Prelude,  B  flat  minor,  222. 

—  Prelude,  C  sharp  minor,  op. 

45.  57- 

—  Prelude,  D  minor,  175,  222. 

—  Prelude,  F  minor,  222. 

—  Rondos,  op.  I  and  5,  197. 

—  Scherzi,  contrasted  with 
Brahms',  20. 

—  Scherzi  in  B  minor,  op.  20, 

173.  179. 

—  Scherzi,  op.  20,  173-1S6. 

—  Scherzo  in  B  minor,  15,  28, 

173- 

—  Scherzo  in  B  flat  minor,  op. 
31,  173,  176. 

—  Scherzo  in  C  sharp  minor,  15, 
173,  1S3-185,  222. 

—  Scherzo  in  E  major,  op.  54, 

173.  175- 

—  Scherzo  in  E  flat  minor,  222- 
223. 

—  Scherzo   in    2d  sonata,    173, 

178-179- 

—  Scherzo  in  3d  sonata,  173. 

—  Sonata  in  B  flat  minor,  223, 
272,  281. 

—  Trio  in  G  minor,  op.  8,  198. 

—  Valses,.222.  ' 

—  Valse  in  A  flat,  40^  41,  175. 

—  Valse  in  A  minor,  40. 

—  Valse  in  C  sharp  minor,  41. 

—  Valse  in  D  flat,  41,  163,  206. 

—  Valse  in  E  flat.  40. 

—  Valse  in  E  minor,  41,  2S3. 

—  Variations,  196. 

—  Variations    (La   Ci    Darem), 

IT- 
Chopin,  Justine,  195. 
Chopin,  Nicholas,  195. 


"  Chopinisms  in  Tristan,"  165. 
Chauvinism  in  Russia,  85, 
City    of    the    Dreadful    Night 

(Thomson),  207. 
Claus,  Wilhelmine,  52. 
Clementi,    163,    241,    243,    246, 

24S,  255,  264,  266,  272,  279. 

—  Reforms  of.  227. 

—  Technics,  102, 
Works  : 

—  i^tudes,  227,  2S4. 

—  E  flat  study,  279. 

—  Gradus,  224. 
Clemm,  Maria,  200. 
Clough,  Arthur  H.,  22. 
Coleridge,  185. 

Conquered  Worm,    The  (Poe), 

206. 
Conrad,  Judge,  201. 
Cramer,  227,  241,  246,  248,  249, 

254-  255.  264,  266,  272,  274, 

279.  283. 

—  Biilow  edition  of,  244. 

—  Studies  in  E  and  C,  280. 

—  Left-hand  study  in  D  minor, 
280. 

—  Studies,  284. 
Cui,  Cesar,  ?,;^,  85. 

Czerny,  240,  255,  266,  268,  275, 

276,  277. 
"  Czerny  unisons,"  112. 
Czerny  daily  exercises..  244. 

—  School  of  legato  and  staccato, 
244. 

—  Toccata  in  C,  242,  250. 

D'Abelli,  241. 
Damrosch,  Walter,  87,  132. 
Dante,  95,  114,  137,  151. 
Darjomisky,  Alexander,  83. 
Daudet,  151. 
Delaborde,  275,  279. 

6 


INDEX 


Be  Lenz,  214,  215. 

—  Beetlioven's  Sonatas,  16. 

—  Chopin's  remark  to,  176. 
De  Meyer,  Leopold,  241. 
Deppe,  241,  243.  ' 

De  Quincey,  120,  205. 
Dienier,  Louis,  134. 
D'Indy,  275, 
Divine  Comedy,  14S. 
Doehler,  Theodore,  193,  241, 

—  Concert  studies,  261. 
Donizetti,  228. 

Don  Quixote,  148. 
Dostoiewsky,  84. 
Dreyschock,  193,  241,  242. 

—  Campanella,  263. 
Dubois,  279. 
Dubois,  Mme.,  215. 
Du  Maurier,  163. 
Dupont,  241, 

—  Toccata  in  B,  263. 
Diisseldorf,  17. 

Duvernoy,  Alphonse,  275,  279. 
Dvordk,  I,  5,  83,  96. 

—  On  Tschaikowsky,  95. 

—  On  Tschai'kowsky's    themes. 


Edward,  Herder's  ballad,  32. 
Eggeling,  240,  254. 
Eldorado  (Poe),  206,  208. 
Ehlert,  Lpuis,  33,  37,  210. 

—  On  BrahiTis,  11,  79-80. 

—  On  Brahms'   D    minor   con- 
certo, 54.^ 

—  On  Brahms'  Waltzer,  45. 

—  On  Wagner,  295. 
Ehrlich,  240,  258. 

—  "Touch  and  Technic,"  255. 
Eisner,  196. 

Emerson,  remark  on  Whitman, 


Empedocles,  148. 
Erard  piano,  224, 
Essipoff,  Annette,  118. 
Etude  Heroique,  50. 
Etudes,  composers  of,  240. 
Eulalie  (Poe),  206. 

Faelten,  241. 
Fairmount  Park,  201. 
Faure,  Gabriel,  279. 
Faust,  1 48. 
Fetis,  240,  242,  252. 
Feuerbach,  291. 
Field,  195. 
Fielding,  yS. 

Finck,  Henry  T,,  33,  162,   213, 
222. 

—  Antagonist  of  Brahms,  22. 
Fissot,  Henry,  274. 
Flaubert,  11,  160,  162. 
Floersheim,    Otto,     opinion    of 

score  of  Zarathustra,  153. 
Fontana,  194. 
Footftj  Arthur,  241. 
Fortinbras,  125,  127. 
Francesca  da  Rimini,  93,  114.   ^ 
Franchomme,  215. 
Franz,  Robert,  129,  232,  239. 

—  Accompaniments  to  Handel, 
191. 

Fuller-M^tland,  29,  68,  71. 

Gaboriau,  207. 
Gavard,  Mile.,  215. 
Gautier,  Theophile,  148. 
Genesis,  158. 

Genius  of  Christianity  (Chateau- 
briand), 231. 
Germer,  Heinrich,  240,  246. 

—  "  Rhythmical        Problems," 

255- 
Gewandhaus,  52. 


307 


INDEX 


Geyer,  Liidwig,  2S5-2S6. 
Giorgione,  the  School  of,  219. 
Giotto,  6. 
Glazounow,  S3. 
GHnka,  83. 

—  Life  for  the  Czar,  83. 

—  Ruslan,  83. 

Godowsky,  Leopold,  paraphrase 
of  Chopin's  studies,  271. 

—  G  sharp  minor  study    (Cho- 
pin), 277. 

Goethe,  94,  95,  203. 

—  Remark  to  Eckermann,  231. 
Gogol,  84,  93. 

Goldsmidt,  Jenny  Lind,  215. 
Golinelli,  241. 

—  Studies,  12,  262. 
Gottschalk,  L.  M.,  262. 

—  Tremolo,  251. 
Gounod,  107,  120,  124,  157. 

—  Rom6o  et  Juliette,  124. 
Graham,  201. 

Grieg,    31,   S3,    200,    221,    250, 

260. 
-^  Scandinavian  triolen  of,  260. 
-r-  Ballade  in  G  minor,  260. 

—  Concerto,  260, 

—  Sonatas,  op.  7  and  op.  8,  260. 
Gutmann,  Adolph,  215. 

ILaberbier,  241,  248. 

—  Etudes  Poesies,  244. 

—  Studies,  254. 

Hadow,  on  Brahms,  53-54,  67. 
Hale,  Philip,  iiS,  233. 

—  \'erse  after  Pushkin,  81. 
Halka  (Moniuszko),  134. 
Halle,  Sir  Charles,  215. 
Hamlet,  93. 

Handel,  46,  48. 

—  Additional    accompaniments 
to,  191. 


Hanslick,  Eduard,  30. 

—  Adoration  of  Brahms,  9. 

—  Designation  of  Kundry,  291 

—  Hatred  of  Wagner,  9. 
Hans  Sachs,  2S9. 
Hasert,  241. 
Haslinger,  252. 
Haunted  Palace  (Poo),  206. 
Hedda  Gabler,  296. 

Heine,  10,  23, 118, 129,  185,  203. 

—  Remark   about    Dreyschock, 
263. 

Helen,  lines  to  (Poe),  196,  197. 

Hell-Breughel,  152. 

Heller,  240,  244,  254. 

Henderson,  233. 

Henselt,  214,  241,  248,  249,  251, 

257,  25S,  259,  264,  265,  273, 

274,  283. 

—  Op.  2  and  op.  5,  244,  25S. 

—  Refinement  of,  257. 
Works : 

—  Bird  Study,  256,  259,  283. 

—  litudes,  256,  259, 

—  Studies  for  the  piano,  2S1- 
283. 

Hercules,  142. 
Herder,  32,  71. 
Herz,  Henri,  241,  242. 

—  Variations  of,  231. 
Herz-Parisian  School,  224. 
Heyman,  Carl,  241. 

—  Elfenspiel,  262. 

Hiller,  Ferdinand,  214,  215,  241. 

Hipkins,  J.  A.,  215. 

Hoffmann,  152,  185. 

Hogarth,  122. 

Hueffer,  Franz,  213. 

Hugo,  Victor,  2S8. 

Hummel,  194, 195,  249,  252,  268, 

274,  2S3. 
Hummel,  Cadences,  100. 


308 


INDEX 


Hungarian  folk-music,  232. 
Huss,  Henry  Holden,  139. 
Hyde,    E.    Francis,    regarding 
Tschaikowsky,  105-106. 

Ibsen,  Henrik,  7,  n,  238,  296. 

Iliad,  148. 

Isolde,  295. 

Isolde's  Liebestod,  164. 

Jadassohn,  240. 

—  Canon,  254. 

—  Preludes  and  fugues,  254. 
James,  Henry,  205. 
Jensen,  240. 

—  :6tudes,  255. 
Job,  Book  of,  148. 

Joseffy,  112,  226,  230,  233,  24], 

249,  277,  27S,  281. 

—  "  At  the  Spring,"  :£tude,  262. 

—  Transcription  of  Chopin's  G 
flat  :fitude,  269. 

Juliet,  296. 

Jurgenson  Catalogue,  132. 

Kalkbrenner,  193,  241,  242, 

250,  252. 

—  And  Chopin,  192. 

—  Fantasies  of,  231. 

—  Una  Pensee  de  Bellini,  194. 
Karasowski,  210,  216,  221. 
Keats,  203. 

Keller,  Robert,  30. 
Kelley,  Edgar,  22. 
Kessler,  J.  C,  241,  251,  259. 

—  Bridge     between     Clementi 
and  Chopin,  254. 

—  Schumann's  opinion  of,  252. 

—  Study,  277. 

—  Twenty-four  studies,  op.  24, 
252-254. 

Ketten,  241. 


Kipling,  Rudyard,  50. 
Kleczynski,  Jean,  213,  222, 
Klengel,  240. 
Klindvvorth,     Karl,     115,    198 

212. 
Knox,  John,  82. 
Kohler,  241. 
Kolner  Dom,  153. 
Koran,  148. 
Krauss,  241. 
Krehbiel,  Henry  E.,  233.  286. 

—  On  re-scoring  Chopin  concer- 
tos, 186,  192. 

—  Regarding  Muscovite,  82. 
Kreisler,  152. 

Kreutzer    violin   caprice  in   E, 
277. 

—  ifitude,  277. 

KuUak,  Theodore,  183,  212,  240, 

253>  275>  279- 

—  Art  of  Touch,  253. 

—  On  Chopin's  F  major  ^tude, 
261. 

—  Octave  school,  244,  271. 
Kundry,  23S,  291. 
Kwiatkowski,  T.,  215. 

Lalo,  275. 

Lamb,  Charles,  98. 

Lavallee,  240. 

Lebert  and  Stark,  240;,  242. 

Le  Couppey,  241. 

Leipsic,  194,  285,  286. 

Lemberg,  251. 

Lcnau,  Faust,  238. 

Leopardi,  203. 

Lermontov,  93. 

Leschetizky,  241. 

Liadow,  43,  83. 

Liszt,  12,  17,  21,  40,  83,  93,  102, 
log,  113,  135,  139,  142,  146, 
147,  149,  i?^.  iS5»  15%  165, 


309 


INDEX 


Liszt,  —  Continued. 

169,  182,  189,  194,  195,  20S, 
214,  216,  217,  226,  227,  22S, 
229,  230,  231,  233,  234,  239, 
241,  243,  247,  252,  258,  265, 
266,  270,  274,  275,  2S3,  290. 

—  Abb^,  The,  238. 

—  Brahms,  praise  of,  24. 

—  Cadenza,  iio-iii. 

—  Chorale.  234-235. 

—  Chopin,  book  on,  221. 

—  Improvements  in  pianos,  224. 

—  Influence  on  piano   playing, 
268. 

—  Musical  temptations  of,  235. 

—  Mysticism  of,  23S. 

—  Pianistic  qualities,  233. 

—  Pupils,  227. 

—  Transcription  of  songs,  232. 
Works  : 

—  Ab-Irato,  232,  267. 

—  Annees  de  Pelerinage,  232, 

237- 

—  Apparitions,  233. 

—  Au  Bords  d'une  Source,  267. 

—  Au  Lac  de  Wallenstadt,  267. 

—  Ballades,  233. 

—  Chasse  Neige,  267. 

—  Concerto  in  E  flat,  234. 

—  Concerto  Patetico,  233. 

—  Elegies,  233. 

—  iStudes,   232,  239,  244,  266, 
267. 

—  Faust  Symphony,  155. 

—  Feux-Follets,  267. 

—  Gnomenreigen,  239,  267. 

—  Harmonies  Poetiques,  233. 

—  Harmonies  du  Soir,  267. 

—  Impromptu  F  sharp,  232. 

—  Legendes,  233. 

—  Mazourka  in  B  minor,  233. 

—  Mephisto  Valse,  238. 

31 


Liszt,  nocturnes,  232. 

—  Paganini  Studies,  267. 

—  Paysage,  267. 

—  Polonaises,  239. 

—  Rhapsodies,  51,  231-232. 

—  Ricordanza,  267. 

—  Sonata  in  B  minor,  233-237. 

—  Sonnets  after  Petrarch,  232. 

—  Symphonic  Poem,  95. 

—  Valse  Impromptu,  232. 

—  Valse  Oubliee,  232, 

—  Waldesrauschen,  239,  267. 
Litolff,  241,  275. 
Loeschorn,  240. 
Lombroso,  2S3. 

Low,  240. 

Lydian  mode,  39. 

Lyschinski,  Dr.  and  Mrs.,  215. 

MacDowell,  Edward,  16,  241. 

—  Studies,  271. 
Madame  Bovary,  166. 
Maeterlinck,  67,  207,  238. 
Mallarme,  162,  207. 
Mangan,  James  C,  208. 
Marmontel,  240,  275. 

Mason,  William,  240,  245,  246, 
254. 

—  Etude  Romanza,  254. 

—  "  Touch  and  Technique,'' 
245,  246. 

Mater  Lachrymarum,  205. 
Mater  Suspiriorum,  205. 
Mater  Tenebrarum,  205. 
Mathias,  George,  41,   192,   193, 

194.  195.  274.  279. 

Matthews,  245. 

Maupassant,  Guy  de,  204. 

Mayer,  Charles,  241. 

Mendelssohn,  29,  30,  59j  102, 
104.  115.  i35>  174,  176,  214, 
216,  240,  257,  268,  277,  283. 

O 


INDEX 


Mendelssohn,  scherzo,  261. 

—  Song  without  Words,  in  A 
minor,  57. 

Metropohtan  Opera  House,  116, 
149. 

Meyer,  Leopold  de,  193. 

Meyerbeer,  162,  2S5. 

Michel  Angelo,  137,  146,  247, 
265. 

Mikuli,  212. 

Minnelied,  25. 

Moi'se  fantasy,  Chopin's  imita- 
tion of,  193. 

Mona  Lisa,  166. 

Monuiszko,  134. 

Moore,  George,  216. 

Moscheles,  214,  241,  242,  24S, 
249,  251-254,  259,  264,  2S3, 
294. 

—  Concerto  in  G  minor,  249. 

—  Hommages,  249. 

—  Op.  70  and  op.  95,  244. 
Moscow,  90. 

Moscow  Gazette,  82. 
Moszkowski,  102,  241,  269-270. 

—  Barcarolle,  102. 

—  Edition  of  Moscheles,  250, 

—  Moment  Musicale,  29. 

—  Studies,  263. 
Moussorgskv,  83. 
Mouvement     Perpetuel     (from 

Weber's  sonata),  130,  269. 
Mozart,   12,  20,    55,    125,    139, 
14S,  149,  217,  227,  246,  266. 

—  Ave  Verum,  120. 

—  Escape  from  the  Seraglio, 
125. 

Mozarteana  (Tscha'ikowsky),  op. 

61,  120. 
Miiller,  A.  E,,  240. 
Murder  in  the  Rue  Morgue,  The 

(Poe),  207. 


Music,  ageing  of,  210. 

—  Limits  of,  142,  144. 

—  Object  of,  144. 

—  Walter  Pater  on,  219,  220. 
Musset,  .Alfred  de,  203. 

—  And  George  Sand,  160. 

Napoleon  prophesies  of  Rus« 

sia,  81. 
Nationalists  in  Music,  S3. 
Neo-Buddhism,  291. 
Neo-Russia,  S3. 
New  York  Philharmonic  Soci* 

ety,  105. 
Neupert,  Edmund,  240. 

—  Etudes,  250. 
Nicode,  241. 

—  Studies,  263. 

Niecks,  Frederick,  168,  213. 

—  Biography  of  Chopin,  211. 
Niedzwiecki,  Leonard,  215. 
Nietzsche,    141-158,    168,    2S6, 

287,  288,  291. 

—  Atheism  of,  146. 

—  Dialectics  of,  141. 

—  Philosophy,  154. 

—  Preferences  in  music,    149, 

—  Strauss'  homage  to,  145. 
Nirvana,  138. 

Nordau,  Max,  288,  297. 
Nowakowski  ,241. 

Omphale,  142. 
Ophelia,  127. 
Orchestration,  Brahms',  19. 

—  ofChopin'sconcertos, 186,192, 

—  Strauss',  19. 
Osborne,  G.  A.,  215. 
Ottima  (Browning),  96. 
Our  Ladies  of  Sorrow,  205. 
Ouverture  Solennelle  ("  1S12  "), 

118,  132. 
II 


INDEX 


Pachmann,  Vladimir  de,  167,  1 
259. 

—  Idealism  of,  226. 
Paderewski,  226,  241. 

—  The  Desert,  2S1. 

—  Variations  in  A  minor,  3S. 
Paganini  studies,  39,  51. 

—  V'^ariations,  4S,  56. 
Paradies,  241. 
Paris,  196. 

Parsifal,  23S,  290-291,  292. 
Parsons,  Albert  R.,  246. 
Pascal,  6. 
Pater,\Valter,on  music,  219,  220. 

—  Definition  of  true  living,  199. 
Pauer,  Ernst,  241, 

Pere  la  Chaise,  39. 
Petersilyea,  C,  241,  282. 
Philadelphia,  201. 
Philharmonic  Festival,  116. 
Philipp,    Isidor,  241,  245,  274, 
275,  276,  279,  2S0. 

—  ]fitudes  for  left  hand,  276-277. 

—  iftude  d'octaves,  279. 

—  Studies,  271-282. 
Piano: 

—  Action  of,  in  Chopin's  time, 
183. 

—  Doubled  bass  of,  19-20,  22. 

—  :^tudes,  240. 

—  Nuance  in,  229-230. 

—  Of  the  past,  227. 

—  Orchestral    development    of, 
227-228. 

—  Organ,  162. 

—  Playing,  modern,   227,  229- 
230,  258. 

—  Pleyel,  the,  1S3. 

—  Possibilities  of  the,  22S, 

—  Realism  of,  226. 

—  Recitals,  266. 

—  Recitals,  decadence  of,  31. 

31 


Piano : 

—  Technic,  242-244. 

—  Viennese,  227. 

—  Virtuosity,  265. 
Pierne,  275. 
Pixis,  241. 
Plaidy,  240,  245. 
Plante,  240. 
Plato,  19. 
Pleyel  piano,  183. 
Poe,  David,  195. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  161,  162,  185, 
195. 

—  Aristocratic  nature  of,  204. 

—  Compared  with  Chopin,  196- 
210. 

—  Euphony  of,  206. 

—  Influence  of,  207. 

—  Unpatriotic,  209. 

—  Wife  of,  200. 

—  Women  of,  205. 
Poe,  Elizabeth,  195. 

Poet,  musical  and  literary  con« 

trasted,  161. 
Potocki,  Count,  251. 
Programmes,  monotony  of,  31, 
Programme  music,  155. 
Prudent,  240. 
Przybyszewski,  S.,  168. 
Pudor,  Heinrich,  2S6,  287. 
Pugno,  279. 
Pushkin,  Si,  84,  93,  131. 

Radziwill,  Prince,  202. 
Raff,  6,  107,  136,  254. 

—  La  Fileuse,  254. 

—  Lenore  Symphony,  107, 
Raiding,  225. 

Raif,  O.,  241,  245. 

Ranz  des  Vaches,  119-12O1 

Raphael,  247. 

Raven,  The  (Poe),  206. 

2 


INDEX 


Ravina,  240, 

—  Etudes,  255. 

Realism  of  Berlioz,  Liszt,  and 

Wagner,  142. 
Realism    in    piano-music,    226, 

256. 

—  piano-playing,  227-22S. 
Reinecke,  240. 
Rheinberger,  240. 
Rhythm,  /■,  13. 
Richards,  Brinley,  215. 
Richardson,  242. 
Riemann,  147,148,240,254. 
Ries,  F.,  241,  250. 
Rimski-Korsakoff,  83,  275. 
Ritter,  Theodore,  279. 
Rive-King,  Julie,  iiS. 
Rodin,  82. 

Romantic  Movement,  the,  230. 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  93. 
Rosenthal,  241,  226,  278,  283. 
Rosenthal-Schytte  studies,  271. 
Rossini,  S3,  149,  174,  22S. 
Rubens.  162. 
Rubinstein,  Anton,  6,  40,  84,  86, 

92,  100,  1C3,   104,  109,   128, 

139,  189,  226,  230,  241,  247, 

275,  280. 

Works  : 

—  C  major  study,  244,  279. 

—  Concerto   in   D  minor,    105, 
III,  274. 

—  Etudes,  op.  23,  270-271. 

—  Etude  (staccato),  253. 

—  Melody  in  F,  100. 
Rubinstein,  Nicholas,  116,  118. 
Rubio,  Mme.,  215. 
Rummel,  Franz,  116. 
Russia,  81,  82,  100. 

—  Napoleon's      prophecy      of, 
81. 

Russian  piano  music,  82. 

3 


S.\INT-S.\ENS,  I,  97,  107,  139 
142,  I5S,  175,  234,  241,  2/5, 
279. 

—  Etudes,  263,  271,  273. 

—  E.Kercises  Joumalieres,  271. 

—  Fondness  for  Liszt,  230,  231. 

—  On  Philipp's  Etudes,  276. 

—  Scherzo  of  G  minor  concerto 

175- 

—  Symphonic  poems  (Phaeton 
and  Rouet  dOmphale),  142. 

Salle  Erard,  193. 

Salvator  Rosa,  170. 

Sand,  George,  160,  162,  213,  221 

—  Winter  in  Majorca,  213. 
Sartain,  John,  201. 
Scarlatti.  264,  266, 
Scharwenka,    Xaver,    109,    241, 

269,  270. 

—  Concerto  in  B  flat  minor,  109. 

—  Etudes,  263. 

—  Polish  dance,  loo-ioi. 

—  Prelude,  E  flat  minor,  263. 
Schar\venka,    Philip,   241,    263, 

269. 
Schlaf  sanft,  mein  kind,  71. 
Schmidt,  240. 

—  Exercises,  244. 
Scholtz,  212. 
Schopenhauer,    146,     147,    149, 

2S7,  2S9,  291,  294. 
Schubert,  11,  16,  41,  129,  232. 

—  Momen  Musicale,  29,  43-44- 
Schuett,  24T. 

—  Etude  Jlignonne,  254. 
Schumann,   5,  6,  11,  12,  15,  16, 

17,  19,  21,  26,  27,  36,  43,  59, 
62,  64,  92,  102,  no,  12S,  129, 
144,  146,  148,  177,  184,  1S9, 
194.  203,  226,  227,  229,  232, 
239,  240,  2S3. 

—  Contrasted  with  Brahms,  25. 


INDEX 


Schumann,   on  Brahms,  23,  24, 
25,  265,  26S-269. 

—  On  Chopin,  194,  196,  210. 

—  On  Chopin's  polonaises,  209, 

—  On  Kessler,  252. 
Works  : 

—  Abegg  variations,  25. 

—  Albumbiatter,  37. 

—  Aufschwimg,  62. 

—  Bunten  Blattern,  38. 

—  Carneval,  42,  194. 

—  Davidsbiindler,  Die,  43,   60, 
76. 

—  Etudes  Paganini,  26S. 

—  !^tudes    Symphoniques,    27t 
268. 

—  Fantasy  in  C,  15. 

—  Faschingschwank  aus  Wien, 
126. 

—  Pieces  Caracteristiques,  43. 

—  Sonatas  in   F  minor  and  F 
sharp  minor,  15,  26. 

—  Sonntags  am  Rhein,  29. 

—  Toccata,    iS,    22,    25c,    26S, 
277. 

—  Variations,  35-36. 
Schytte-Rosenthal,  241. 
Scribner  musical  library,  213. 
Seebold  (Browning),  96. 
Seeling,  Hans,  241,  262. 

—  Gnomentanz,  263. 

—  Loreley,  Die,  262. 
SeidI,  Anton,  116,  165. 
Seiss,  Isidor,  241. 

—  Preludes,  254. 
Senancour,  203. 

Sermon  on  the  Mount,  The,  14S. 
Seroff,  Alexander,  S3. 
Sgambati,  241,  263. 
Shakespeare,  95,  127,  14S,  294, 

296. 
Shelley,  203,  205. 

3 


Siegfried.  137. 

Siegfried  Funeral  March,  132. 

Siloti,  117,  131. 

Silence    (Poe),     162,    185-1861 

209. 
Sloper,  Lindsay,  215. 
Socrates,  19. 

Solomon,  Songs  of,  148,  294. 
Sordello,  22. 
Sowinski,  Albert,  213. 
Speidel,  241. 

—  Octave  study,  262. 
Spinoza,  6. 

Spitta,  12,  13,  35-36,  38. 

Spleen  (Poe),  185-186. 

St.  Anthony,  236. 

Stassoff,  v.,  S3. 

Stcherbatcheff,  83. 

Steibelt,  251. 

Stei;,brecher,  Werner,  213. 

Stendhal,  231, 

Sternberg,  Constantin  von,  240. 

—  Story     about      Brahms-Cho- 
pin ifitude,  269. 

—  Study  in  F,  255. 
Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  180. 
St.  Petersburg,  86,  87,  140. 

—  Conservatory,  104. 
Strauss,  Richard,  5,  19,  94,  138, 

141-159. 

—  Abnormal  brain  of,  155. 

—  Atheism  of,  146. 

—  Attempts     the     impossible, 
143. 

—  Cacaphony  of,  156. 

—  Compared  with  Brahms,  157. 

—  Contrapuntal    ingenuity    of, 
156. 

—  Hysteria  of,  153,  156. 

—  Melodies  of,  137. 

—  On    his    symphonic    poem, 
I       145. 

14 


INDEX 


Strauss,    Score  of  Zarathustra, 
15S-159. 
Works  : 

—  Also  Sprach  Zarathustra,  141, 
145-146,   149,  152-154,   155- 

i56>  157.  '58- 

—  Death  and  Apotheosis,   143, 

155- 

—  Don  Juan,  143,  153,  155. 

—  Macbeth,  143. 

—  Till  Eulenspiegel,  143,    153, 

155- 
Streicher,  Mme.,  215. 
Sternau.  2S. 
Strelezki,  Anton,  241. 

—  Concert  studies,  271. 

—  The  Wind,  271. 
Swift,  204. 

Swinburne,  22,  207,  294. 
Symphony  Society',  132. 
Szopen,  Fryderyk,  210. 
Szulc,  210,  214. 

Tasso,  204. 
Tatjana,  Sg. 
Tausig,  1S9,  190,  191,  192,  214, 

226,  227,  241,  248,  26S,  278, 

279,  281. 

—  Daily  Studies,  51,  59,  269, 
271. 

—  Edition  of  Clementi,  243. 

—  Use  of  studies,  243. 

— '■  Version  of  Chopin's  concer- 
tos, 1S7-192. 

Tennyson,  22,  207. 

Thackeray,  214. 

Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  221. 

Thalberg,  192,  193,  225,  241, 
265,  274. 

—  Clementi,  244. 

—  Scale  playing  of,  225. 

—  Studies,  250,  251. 

3 


Thalberg,    Theme    and    Varia 
tions,  op.  45,  275, 

—  Touch  of,  238. 

—  Tremolo  study  in  C,  275. 
Thomson,  James,  207. 
Tolsto)',  82,  S5-S6,  93,  95,  100, 

115. 
Trilby,  163. 
Trilogy,  290, 

Tristan,  146,  14S.  157,  165,  295. 
Tschaikowsky,  Piotor  llyitch,  6, 

12,  16,  81-140,  84,  87,  91,  93, 

96,  07,  100,  107, 120,  127,  140, 

142,  143,  146,  275. 

—  Calmuck  in,  93. 

—  Compared  to  Brahms,  92,  95. 

—  Compared  to  Dvor^,  95,  96. 

—  Cop'.pared  to  Turgenev,  84- 
85. 

—  Contrapuntal  skill,  124,  126. 

—  Dislike  of  Brahms,  139. 

—  Favorite  syniphon)',  105-106. 

—  Form,  135. 

-1^,  Love  for  Mozart,  120,  139. 

—  Love  for  Russia,  98. 

—  i\Ianual  r ''  Harmony,  130. 

—  -  INIoods  of,  97. 

—'  Morbidness  of,  120. 

—  Operas,  139-140. 

—  Orchestral  works,  119. 

—  Orchestration,  94,    106,  107, 
no. 

—  Piano   music,   101-103,   loS, 
109-112,  115,    116-117,  12S, 

134- 

—  Resemblance  to  Wagner,  131- 

132- 

—  Scoring,  ingenious,  137,  138. 

—  Songs,  129. 

—  Suicide  story,  140. 

—  Symphonies,  Dvorak's  opin- . 
ion  of,  137. 

15 


INDEX 


Tscha'ikowsky,  Tastes  in  music, 

—  Themes,  95,  106-107,  121. 

—  Use  of  flute,  94. 

—  Variationist,  95. 

—  Versatility  of,  85-S6. 
Works : 

^—  Ave  Maria,  129. 

—  Barcarolle,  102. 

—  Belle  au  Bois  Dormant,  La, 
op.  66,  126. 

—  Capriccio,     Italian,    op.    45, 
117-11S. 

—  Capriccio   for   piano,   op.   S, 
103. 

—  Choruses  k  capella,  87. 

—  Concerto  for  piano,  op.  23, 
87,  109-112. 

—  Concerto  for  piano,  op.  44, 
116-117. 

• —  Concerto  for  piano,  op.   75, 

■132,  133- 

—  Concerto   for  violin,  op.  35, 
114. 

—  Caprice  D'Oksane,  Le,  129. 

—  Casse-Noisette,  127. 

—  Chanson  Sans  Paroles,   100, 

lOI. 

—  Chanson  Triste,  116. 

—  Dame  de  Pique,  La,  op.  6S, 
127. 

—  Don  Juan,  op.  38,  11 5-1 16. 

—  Doumka,  op.  59,  120. 

—  Elegy   for    Nicholas    Rubin- 
stein, iiS. 

—  Eugene  Onegin,  89,  112. 

—  Fantasie   for   piano  and  or- 
chestra, op.  56,  n6,  iiS. 

—  Fille  de  Neige,  La,  104. 

—  Foggy  Landscape.op.  13, 105. 

—  Francesca  da  Rimini,  op.  32, 
93,  104.  loS,  114,  143. 

3 


Tschaikowsky,  Hamlet,  op.  67, 
104,  loS,  125,  126-127,  130, 

143- 

—  Jeanne  d'Arc,  129. 

—  Lac  de  Cygnes,  Le,  109. 

—  Lieder,  op.  57,  119. 

—  MagicienneouLaCharmeuse, 
La,  129. 

—  Manfred  Symphony,  op.  58, 
119-120,  143. 

—  Marche  Slave,  op.  31,  113. 

—  Mazeppa,  129. 

—  Melodies  for  voice,  op.  73, 
129. 

—  Messe  Russe,  op.  41,  116. 

—  Mouvement  perpetuel,  130. 

—  !Mozarteana,  op.  61,  120. 

—  Nocturne  for  piano,  132. 

—  Nur  wer  die  Sehnsucht 
Kennt,  94,  129. 

—  Overture  Solonnelle,!  18, 132. 

—  Overture  Triomphale,  106. 

—  Pezzo  capriccioso,  op.  62, 
121. 

—  Piano  Album,  op.  39,  102, 
116. 

—  Piano  compositions,  103, 
109,  115,  iiS,  12S. 

—  Pourquoi  (Heine),  129. 

—  Romances  and  Songs  for 
voice,  103,  106,  113,  118, 
120,  121,  126,  129. 

—  Romeo  et  Juliette,  104,  114, 

132.  133.  143- 

—  Russian  Mass,  op.  52,  118. 

—  Scherzo,  op.  34,  114. 

—  Seasons,  The,  102. 

—  Serenade  for  strings,  op.  48, 
iiS. 

—  Snegourotschka,  104. 

—  Song  without  Words,  op.  3, 
103. 

16 


INDEX 


Tschaikowsky,  Souvenir  de 
Florence,    127. 

—  Souvenir  de  Hapsal,  102, 

—  Souvenir  d'un  lieu  triste,  op. 
42,  116. 

—  String    quartets,    104,     109. 

—  Suites  for  orchestra,  S7,  116, 
iiS. 

—  First  Symphony,  op.  13  (G 
minor),  104-105. 

—  Second  Symphony,  op.  17 
(C  minor),  "the  Russian," 
106-107. 

—  Third  Symphon)',  op.  29 
(in  D-major),  113. 

—  Fourth  Symphony,  op.  36 
(F  minor),  94,  95,  114-115, 
123-126. 

—  Fifth  Symphony,  op.  64 
(E  minor),  94,  03,  121-123, 
136. 

—  Sixth  Symphony,  •  op.  74 
(B  minor),  86,  94,  132,  134- 
138. 

—  Tempest,  op.  iS,  loS. 

—  Tscharodeika,  La,  129. 

—  Vakoula,  106. 

—  Valse  Caprice,  103. 

—  Valse-Scherzo,  103. 

—  Variations  in  F,  38,  loS, 
109. 

—  Variations,  op.  19,  102. 

—  Variations,  op.  33,  114. 

—  Winter  Journey,  104-105. 

—  Witch  of  the  Alps,  119. 

—  Yolande,  127. 
Turgenev,  S4-S5,  94,  100. 

—  On  Russia,  98. 

—  The  Beggar,  99,  100. 


Ulalume  (Poe),  198-199. 


Valkyrie,  22S. 

Van  Cleve,  John,  213. 

Van  Der  Stucken,  Frank,  loS. 

Variations,   35-36,  38,  ioS-io9j 

231- 

Venino,  Albert,  261. 

Verdi,  i. 

Verlaine,  Paul,  207,  227,  230. 

Verstohlen  geht  der  Mend,  25. 

Viardot,  Louis,  192. 

Vienna,  251. 

Vinci,  Leonardo  da,  247. 

Virgil,  114. 

Virgil  clavier,  246. 

Vogel  der  heut'  sang,  Dem,  29. 

Vogrich,  Max,  51,  241. 

—  On  Brahms'  cradle-song,  "jo. 

—  On  playing  Brahms,  76-77. 

—  Staccato  etudes,  262. 
Vogt,  241. 

Von  Biilow,  109,  212,  251,  264. 

—  Edition  of  Cramer,  244. 

—  List  of  etudes,  244. 

—  Playing  of  Brahms  Sonata  in 
C,  24. 

—  "Three  B's,"  ir,  248. 
Von  Schlozer,  241. 

—  Etudes,  270. 
Votinsk,  S7. 
Voyevode,  130,  132. 

Wagner,  Richard,  3,  7,  8, 
9,  12,  20,  82,  126,  131-132, 
139,  146,  i53r  i55>  i5S>  164, 
165,  1S8,  195,  20S,  228,  231, 
23S,  239,  245,  264,  285-297. 

—  As  artist,  288-290. 

—  Christianity  of,  2S9,  291- 
292. 

—  Contrasted  with  Brahms,  9. 

—  -  Fascination  of  Wagner's  mu- 

sic, 297. 


317 


INDEX 


Wagner,    Richard,    Hatred    of 
Jews,  2S5. 

—  Jewish   descent  of,  2S5-2S6, 
2S7-2SS. 

•^Judenthum    in    der    Musik, 
Das,  2S5. 

—  Philosophy  of,  2S9,  292. 

—  Poet  of  passion,  294,  296. 

—  Temperament  of,  10. 

—  Theatrical  tendency  of,  10. 

—  Turn,  idealizes  the,  7,  19. 

—  Die  Busser  (The  Penitents), 
290. 

—  Die  Sieger    (The    Victors), 
292. 

—  Die  Walkiire,  157,  164. 

—  Eine    Faust    Overture,    126, 
155,  156. 

—  Meistersinger,    Die,  29,  157, 
iSS,  2S9. 

—  Ring,    The,    146,    164,    195, 
2SS. 

—  Tristan  and  Isolde,  145,  162, 
274,  2SS,  290,  293-294,  296. 

Wahnfried,  2S6. 

Wallner,  140. 

Warsaw,  249,  252. 

Warum  sind  denn  die  Rosen  so 

Blass,  129. 
Washington  Hospital,  195. 


Weber,    16,    S3,   176,    193,  274, 
277,  2S3. 

—  Rondo   (Perpetual    Motion), 
50,  130,  269,  278,  2S1. 

—  Sonata  in  C  major,  130,  269. 
Weimar,  23,  249. 
Well-Tempered  Clavichord,  247. 
Whistler,  162. 

Whitman,    Emerson's     remark 

on.  It. 
Whittingham,  Alfred,  213. 
Widor,  279. 

Willeby,  Charles,  213,  222. 
Willis,  N.  P.,  201. 
Willmers,  273,  275. 
Wodinski,  Count,  213. 
Wolff,  Edouard,  215. 
Women    playing  Chopin,  170' 

171. 
Wood,  Charles,  213, 
Wordsworth,  205. 
Wotan,  164. 

Zal,  209,  218. 
Zarembski,  266. 

—  B  flat  minor  etude,  270. 
Zichy,  241. 
Zimmerraann,  193. 
Zelazowa-Wola,  195. 
Zw^intscher,  245. 


3'8 


H  DAY  T7SF 

KB^RKTODBSKBROM  WHICH  BOKKOWH. 

MUSIC  LIBRARY 

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